


The Two Rooks

by Mostly_Harmony



Category: The Rook (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Hive Mind, POV First Person, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-10-14 13:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 36,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20601566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mostly_Harmony/pseuds/Mostly_Harmony
Summary: Gestalt and Myfanwy are not friends. They know a lot about each other - but don'tknoweach other at all... until Gestalt loses the most precious thing in his/her life so far... and Myfanwy loses her memory...---If you loved the chemistry between Myfanwy and Gestalt in the Rook (tv) but preferred the plot of the novel by Daniel O'Malley. Then this is the fic for you.I do recommend reading the book to make sense of this fic. Closely following/adapting the events involving Gestalt from "The Rook" novel - in chronological order and from Gestalt's perspective... also with an alternate ending...





	1. The Drive

**Author's Note:**

> All recognisable content is to contextualize the adaptations to the story. The wording and characters are not mine - they are Daniel O'Malley's - I'm just having fun rearranging his story into a new one for my own pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This event is taken from Chapter 12 p.155 onwards in "The Rook" by Daniel O'Malley  
\---

~ PART ONE ~  
** Gestalt and Loss**  
-~-

I had never given much time to reminiscing. Though I certainly had the capacity.

If I wanted to, I could have devoted one of my bodies entirely to lying on a couch, immersed in memories of the past.

I did delve into the past when necessary for my work, but I preferred the present... I was well educated in world history - both the publicly known history and the secret histories most people have never heard of at all. People don’t learn the real secrets of the Checquy until they’re a part of the group, and then they can’t get out. 

Newcomers are bound to the Checquy through a variety of means. Legal contracts. Religious oaths. Oaths of fealty. Penalties under the Official Secrets Act. Penalties under various unofficial secrets acts. Vaguely worded threats of nebulously horrible vengeance. Of course, for me, I was inducted into the secrets of the Checquy when I was taken to the Estate as a one-year-old. Getting out was never something I had considered... until I turned thirty-five. But it wasn't a midlife crisis that precipitated this line of thinking. It was a series of events that could not be reversed.

Events that I was too busy to think about... 

"It's good to see you, Rook Thomas," I said, smiling slightly at the startled look on Myfanwy's face.

"But, I saw you yesterday?" She squeaked.

Myfanwy was one of the few people who never seemed to forget that my four bodies were not separate or distinct personalities. "True. But I haven't seen you in this body," I motioned towards my female body, "for nearly a year."

I had put on a little weight during that time. I was rounder in places, but for the most part it enhanced my curves rather than detracted from them. Most of the clothes I had left behind in Britain were too tight now. I was grateful that my entourage were remedying and supplementing my scanty wardrobe, because I could not waste precious time going out to find new sizes for everything I wore. 

I noticed Myfanwy subtly eyeing my curves as we climbed into the car that would take us to our quarterly inspection of the Estate in our capacity as school governers.

"What a tedious waste of a day," she announced when we were strapped in.

"Yes, it's a shame you can't just go to sleep, like me." I said shortly, suspicious of the way her expression had turned slightly smug when she noticed my weight gain. 

"Well, I'm not sure I'd like the hassle of extra bodies, actually."

"And you seem to genuinely enjoy tedious things." 

"Well... hmmm..." She shuffled the stack of reports and documents on her lap. A delicate flush was starting in her cheeks. This I couldn't resist pressing.

"In fa-a-act," I drawled. "Tedious is one of the most common words that comes to mind when I think of your job."

"Technically, you and I both have the same job" Myfanwy responded primly.

Ooh I liked the rare moments when Myf grew claws and swiped back at me. "Ye-e-es," I agreed. "Hence why I have constant domestic and international travel in my schedule... and you find it trying when we need to travel to the Estate four times a year."

Myfanwy was not crumpling under my onslaught. In fact she sat up a little straighter and gritted her teeth.

"Robert is in Budapest now," I continued when she didn't respond, "about to kick in a door in a very shady looking apartment building."

"Oh?" I could see from her change of expression that her childlike infatuation with my Robert body was ongoing. For the person who had the best grasp of how a hive mind worked, of anyone that I knew, it was amusing that a pretty male face still effected her that way.

"Yep, Teddy is at the Rookery having just apprehended a suspect for questioning, and Alex is about to board a flight to Paris. I think our jobs are quite different, really."

Myfanwy stayed quiet. I hoped she didn't think so little of me as to believe I would stop needling her just because she was ignoring me. "What are you reading about today?"

"Uh... reviewing enrolment records for the Estate, mostly."

"And are you finding that to be useful?"

"Well, no. But knowing information is... what I do" she admitted sheepishly.

"Myf - er, Rook Thomas, I don't think you and I could be any _more _ different. I ..." That was a slip up. I never called her Myfanwy to her face. I must be more tired than I thought.

"Really, Gestalt, weren't you planning to go to sleep." Myfanwy snapped.

There we go, she's cracked, I thought to myself... I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye - the long neck, angular jaw. She was irritated, and letting it show. God, she was cute.

"You're right, I was" After all, feigning sleep was my only defense against the pull she had on me. I could already feel the attention of other parts of myself focussing on what I was seeing through Eliza's eyes. Myfanwy had this effect on me. It wasn't something I could allow.

"Well, honey, I usually am..." Myfanwy peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Humour. Her mood was changeable today. "I guess that's the one thing we have in common. Always being right." I stretched out my legs on the seat across from us, very aware of the petite body an arms length away from me. It was going to be a long drive.


	2. Nursery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: although I'm not exactly canonical with this plot, if you haven't read the book - this will have spoilers for events as they occur in the novel.

By the time we stopped at the tiny little village where the Checquy boat would ferry us across to Kirrin Island, all of my bodies had been forced to abandon their various tasks. Teddy was lying down in the Residence at the Rookery. Robert had returned to the tiny motel room I'd been given in Budapest. Alex had arrived in Paris and promptly cancelled my meetings for the day so that I could check in to my favourite cozy little AirBnB in that city. With Eliza's body I pretended to wake up, yawn and follow Myfanwy out of the car.

It was always this way. Any extended period of time that one of my bodies spent with Myfanwy Thomas would disrupt the thought processes that directed all three other bodies, until all of my focus was centred on this delicate creature that both fascinated and repelled me. She was the opposite of everything I expected to be attracted to. My opposite in nearly every way. She was ivory-skinned, slender nearly to the point of anorexic (yet somehow still healthy), she had no athletic skills, no combat skills, and very little grasp of her supernatural ones. She was not impressive in any way shape or form.

And yet.

And yet, I was helplessly drawn to her.

It never ceased to irritate me. Especially now. When I had so many bigger things to worry about.

We disembarked at the dock and were met by Steffi Blümen, who shook both our hands but gave 'Miffy' a warm kiss on the cheek. I observed this placidly. I had never been close to the staff who had raised us. Nor to any of my peers. In fact, I could count on one hand the number of people in my life time who might have considered me a friend. 

Considering I have eight hands and four bodies to draw on for friendship-making, many would see this as a sad state of affairs. I had never seen it that way. I had no personal life. I didn't see this as a loss. I excelled in every other area. I had a brilliant control of my powers. I had never, ever regretted my focus on excellence over relationships... until the events of this year.

"Eliza, you poor thing, you have put on weight during your time in America, haven't you? And, my you look tired!"

I glanced at Myfanwy as Steffi led us forward, without waiting for a response. There was a flicker of smug satisfaction on Myf's open face before she caught up with Steffi and began chatting with her. I held back a tiny smile of my own. I guess Myanwy rarely had the chance to see me receive a criticism or a set down. Only natural that it might make her feel a little better, considering that she received set downs and patronising comments from various sources every day.

We walked up to the school, which was a collection of handsome brick buildings with red roofs, gardens, shooting ranges, gymnasiums, and all sorts of carefully sculpted terrain suitable for specialized training. My favourite spot was the specially designed glasshouse containing the tropical rainforest and jungle landscapes. I had spent hours in there as a child. No wonder the Amazon had been my choice of habitat when the need arose for my female body to go into seclusion for eight months.

We walked around the classrooms and quietly sat in on some classes. I was gaining greater control over the compartmentalization of my other bodies now that I wasn't stuck in a confined space alone with Myfawny. Robert was able to go and procure an overdue meal, Alex entered the Paris Checquy Headquarters to meet with a colleague and Teddy began shifting through a string of overdue emails.

Still the effort it took had exhausted me and my feet dragged.

Of-course, the ever observant Steffi noticed. “You look a little stressed, Rook Gestalt,” she said. “Perhaps we should go somewhere a bit more calm.” Before I could prepare myself she had opened a door and ushered us into a softly lit room. 

I was immediately assaulted by the gentle scents that filled the nursery. The sweet smell of babies. I tried to close off the senses in Eliza's body and pour attention and focus entirely into the other three. The conversation Alex was having with a startled Paris employee became suddenly very intense. I took the opportunity for Teddy to have a rant at a particularly lazy assistant who had screwed up in the simple task I'd given her, and I struck up a conversation with the nearest attractive Woman in Robert's vicinity. But it wasn't enough. My breath was starting to come short and fast. I could barely hear the murmered conversation between Myfanwy and Steffi due to a roaring in Eliza's ears. 

I ran through all of my most effective calming techniques, in Eliza's body whilst simultaneously trying to shut it down to bare basic use.

It didn't help.

Grief, thick and clotted was spreading through all of my bodies. Anger was simmering. Pain was blurring my vision. It was crazy. Emotions should not have this power over me.

Then one of the nine babies in the room cried. The sound tore through me, ripping off every self protective mental bandage that I had use to patch up grief, loss and despair. I was flooded with emotion. My breasts ached in response to that cry. My stomach constricted.

The squalling continued. A nurse came in, gently scooped up the little round infant, and rocked her soothingly. I jerked my head away as she put the child to her breast. Tears were rising in my eyes and it was only a moment of time before the dam burst.

I snatched out the phone in Robert's pocket and dialed Eliza's number. 

"Hello?" I blinked rapidly, with my head turned away from the others.

Pull yourself together.

“Right,” I said to myself. “I understand. Stay on the line.” I held the phone against my aching chest, and turned to the rotund German woman behind me.

“Steffi, something has come up—is there a room where I can take this call?” Amazingly, my voice came out unbroken.

“Of course,” said Steffi, ushering me out of the nursery. 

“Anything I can help with?” Myfanwy called after me as I escaped. 

“No, it’s something that really only I can handle. Go on with the tour, and I’ll catch up.”

“We’re heading to the san next,” said Steffi. “If we finish there before you finish here, just give Miffy a call.” 

I didn't dare look back. I lifted one hand in acknowledgement and walked away. Finally alone, my pallid reflection shining back at me from the classroom window, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. What had happened to me wasn't something I could recover from using the skills I'd developed during my unusual lifetime. I'd been wounded in a way that no-one could see. And if I couldn't fix myself, what were my chances of surviving this? It could very well be a fatal wounding.

I had told Myfanwy that only I could handle this. But I was totally and utterly wrong. I did not have what it took to fix _this_. The part of this that I could handle was Revenge. Intrigue. Espionage. It would be time consuming and dangerous and I would have to do it all whilst bleeding internally from an emotional centre that I had never, ever imagined I had.

With Eliza's body, I slowly sank to the ground, and allowed myself to do what Myfanwy Thomas would do in this situation. I sobbed.


	3. Rain

Just like people have a preferred hand for writing, or a dominant foot when kicking a ball, so I had preferred bodies for various tasks... or actions. Some conscious. Some subconscious. The most obvious of these was that I only ever used my Robert body for sex. There had been one exception to that... and it was that exception that had led to my current state of emotional chaos. 

I had certainly used Eliza's body as a seduction tool, however I always got out of the situations without actually having intercourse. It was distasteful to me for whatever reason. With Robert's body it felt natural to unemotionally pick up random unattached others for a few hours of pleasure. My other bodies could continue functioning in their various tasks, or get some sleep, while sexual desire was sated. 

My preferred body for aerobic or gymnastic activities, was Eliza. Her body was the most supple and flexible. For the use of intimidation or force I didn't really have a preference, but I knew that Teddy and Alex together packed the biggest punch. I had never had a preferred body for emotional outbursts. I'd never needed one.

Now, I wondered if the biological reactions of Eliza's body were contributing to my emotional control. My breasts still felt tight. In fact, one was leaking milk, despite not having been used for that purpose in several weeks. I was angry. Angry at my Betrayer. Angry at myself.

As my tears slowly ceased flooding from my eyes and my gasping breaths evened out - I regained control of the emotions tumbling around my bodies, I was able to go for a run (Robert), go for a swim (Alex) and begin a work out at the gym (Teddy). 

I pulled myself to standing (Eliza), and rejoined Myfanwy for the return to London. As though drawn by my outburst, a storm had begun to rage over the school. While thunder crashed overhead, I was able calm myself. The grief and anger were still present, but they were again a dull and ever present ache. 

We got on the boat, and the trip back to the mainland was stormy and rough. Lightning forked overhead as night fell. Myfanwy was lost in her own thoughts and had not looked my way once in the dash back to the village. I was glad of that. Grateful for the rain blending with the remains of tears on my face.

The rain whooshed against the roof of the car. It cocooned us in a wet and noisy blanket. We began the journey in complete silence. The drumming of the rain was the only sound accompanying us.

Then I heard Myfanwy whisper to herself. “Everything that makes you who you are...Gone forever.” 

I looked across at her. In the darkness I could see very little of her face. Perhaps it was that darkness that prompted me to speak. 

"What did you say?"

There was a startled squeak. "Oh - nothing! I was just talking to myself."

"No need to be embarrassed... I talk to myself all the time." 

This prompted a surprised laugh. 

Enchanting.

That was the word to describe Myfanwy Thomas' laugh. It was a sound that rarely occured in my company. I really didn't relate well to other people. I had never had the knack of toning down my intensity and making people laugh. Sometimes I wondered if I even had a sense of humour. The truth was that I hadn't had time or practice in developing one. I was a serious person, raised to do serious tasks. Though Myfanwy, despite her education at the estate, had retained a sense of humour.

The thick clouds had brought darkness even more quickly than usual. I could only see black shapes outside my window, occasionally illuminated by a street light. I shifted in my seat, stretching. On the seat between us my hand collided briefly with Myfanwy's. 

She froze. 

Something like static electricity was coursing through my arm. I, ever so casually, settled my hand on the seat between us. I could still feel the buzzing in my hand from the brief contact. She was sitting tensely beside me, very clearly aware of my every movement. I kept my eyes on the barely discernable landscape we were passing.

"Gestalt," she said cautiously. A question in her quiet, musical voice. "Do you ever wonder if... if we have given up too much? By being in the Checquy?"

I looked back at her, in the darkness, stunned that she would ask me something like that. Especially me whilst wearing Eliza's body. I knew she disliked this side of me. The only body she relaxed slightly around was Robert.

She was sitting as far away from me as the seats allowed, but her knees were angled toward me. In the brief flashes of light, her hair was dripping wet, disheveled - even so, she looked more attractive than any human being I'd ever seen before. Her face was friendly, open. But her eyes were careful.

"I bet you don't," she continued, backtracking. "Ever wonder, I mean. It's like. You of all people. You'd never question."

Her quiet laugh came again, but this time there was a bitter edge. Like she was close to tears.

Now, tears were not exactly unusual for Rook Thomas. She had been known to cry when startled, or experiencing a minor injury. But the question she had asked was different. We didn't speak like that in the Checquy. My mind was spinning. Did she know more than I realised? Was she setting me up? There was something dangerous in the air between us. Something about the darkness, and being alone, that would draw out my secrets.

I felt like I had to speak; she was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything conventional or diplomatic to say. This topic was too raw.

"Are you using your powers on me?" I asked abruptly.

She laughed again, this time it came out like half a sob.

"No."

I grimaced. The problem with honest questions was that they presumed the person being asked was sincere. Myfanwy used her powers so rarely, that it was hard to even know what her powers could do.

"Are you sure?" I persisted stupidly. "I feel like... well, there's a powerful pull to answer you."

She seemed confused. "Really?"

"Mmmm," I flexed my fingers there between us. "But I think -"

Robert, Teddy and Alex paused and looked up. Staring blankly into space for a moment.

Tread carefully.

" - it might just be because this topic has been on my mind of late."

The silence between us now was loaded with how much I had just acknowledged. 

I shifted my hair over my right shoulder to hide my face, for a moment. I couldn't believe I had just admitted that. If I, with all my practical knowledge of intrigue, had been groomed by my Betrayer, to go against every value I had. How much more easily could he be manipilating Myfanwy? It was the most likely thing in the world that my Enemy had power over her. It was how she had risen to Rook, afterall.

I could not afford to make myself vulnerable. 

But I was so lonely. Lonelier than I had ever been. I was being crushed under the weight of emotions I never expected to feel. The longing that I'd always felt - for connection, to be understood - had increased exponentially. 

"Gestalt?" Her voice shouldn't have been so powerful, as if I'd do anything at all just for the chance to hear it.

I turned back. My body tense, but my hand still outstretched, resting on the middle seat. 

Myfawny's voice was wary, "do you... do you want to try... I could try and show... so you can feel when I'm using my powers..."

I couldn't move. Every part of my logic screamed to stop this conversation. Stop it right now.

Then she reach out and lightly laid her hand on mine.

Skin. To. Skin.


	4. Honesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I've never had a beta reader for any of my fic, and if I were to go over a completed chapter once I've written it, I'd never put a fic up on here. Apologies for any typos.
> 
> My playlist whilst writing this:  
"Weaker Girl" by Banks  
"Live that Long" by Lewis Del Mar  
"Show You" by CXLOE
> 
> I also want to acknowledge some of my favourite phrases, characteristics and ideas from Stephanie Meyer's books that have crept into this fic.
> 
> \---

Skin to skin.

At first I felt nothing. That is... I felt a great many things, but none of them were a sense of Myfanwy using her powers. All I could feel was the warmth of her skin. The shivery pleasure of attraction and contact. Breathlessness.

And then, I felt it. 

I knew suddenly that Myfanwy was showing me something she had never revealed before. To anyone.

The sensation I had was a fluttering, a thrumming, that flowed through my physical being. A flurry of butterflies that poured through my blood stream, my nervous system, my musculature, in the same way that food colouring could spread through water. In each physical system where I felt that fluttering presence I knew that she could control, re-channel, warp, or stop it from functioning as it should. 

But the scariest part by far, was that I could feel her in every single one of my bodies. Not just in the one she was touching.

It was not just that my mind was feeling the sensations in Eliza's body. Myfanwy's power was spreading through each body along distinct and seperate pathways.

It was an important distinction. 

She might not have ever showed anyone her presence in their body the way she was showing me. I had definitely never felt somone touch all four bodies at the same time. 

Then, as suddenly as it had begun. It stopped. She withdrew her hand, and her powers, like she had been stung. As if _I_ had done something to _her_

My eyes narrowed. I had done nothing. I _could_ do nothing. What the fuck could anyone do to protect themselves from a complete physical shutdown in a single touch?

"Did you scare yourself?" I hissed through my teeth. "What was this little demonstration about? Some kind of threat?"

"Threat?" The word, and my reaction, seemed to catch her off guard. She was shaking with some kind of emotion I couldn't understand. "Threat of what?"

"That you could kill me with one touch. That you could kill every single body at once, regardless of their location, even though you only had access to one."

She was astonished. She stared at me in disbelief.

When she finally spoke, her voice was shaky. It almost sounded like she was irritated with me. "You think this was s-some sort of p-power play?"

"I know it was," I snapped.

"You don't know _any_thing." She was definitely irritated.

I turned my whole body sharply toward her, I was nothing if not brave in the face of a threat. Within the relatively spacious confines of the Rolls-Royce limousine, it was surprising how close our faces were now.

"Rook Thomas," I said icily. "You know, as well as I do, that there is no other way for me to interpret the power that you have to invade my entire, fucking, physical being!"

"I'm sorry." She sounded sincere. "I honestly didn't think of it that way. I just, I don't know, I wanted you to know that - well, I can't use my power to compel you to speak. It doesn't work like that, really."

I studied her face. It was very serious. Still annoyed, but mostly earnest.

"I don't know what you mean," I said, eventually my voice guarded.

"I have access to your body," she explained, throwing her hands out in an irritated gesticulation. "Your physical systems... but not your mind. I could force a sound out of your throat, that's true, but it would only ever be sound. I couldn't pry out secrets."

I let out the breath that had been subconsciously holding. It whooshed quietly out of four mouths. Myfanwy's gaze dropped to my lips.

We were driving through a built up area and the lights up and down the street filtered through the rain to give me a clearer view of her face. Her eyes flickered back up to meet mine. I had absolutely no idea what she was thinking. No idea what had prompted her to start this intensely personal interaction. 

But I was skilled at reading people. Emotions were as clear to me as if they were spelled out in words across her forehead: mortification, as she exposed something that natural shyness usually kept hidden, fear, as she gauged my reaction, and something more...fascination? Longing? Hope? Then, finally, embarrassment as I held her gaze for far too long.

And yet, she didn't shy away. Her eyes - blue, luminous - lingered. Her lower lip wobbled. Her body continued to quiver intermittently.

I raised my right hand slowly, unwillingly. I didn't want to feel what I was feeling. I knew the risk I was taking. I leaned towards her, holding her gaze. I closed the distance between us and pressed my lips to hers. 

Everything was on fire. I dropped my coffee cup (Robert) and it smashed all over a concrete floor. I walked headfirst into an inconvenient metal pole (Alex). I stumbled whilst trying to walk between two perfectly normal chairs (Teddy) and had to sit down abruptly to steady myself. 

This was more than dangerous. This was insanity. 

What was this witchery? This bizarre magnetism. Was it was just some long buried protective instinct - the strong for the weak? I drew back, breathing hard. My hand still touching Myfanwy's fragile skin, my fingers tangled in the soft hair at the nape of her neck. Her soft mouth was making a quiet 'O' of surprise as she stared back at me. Her skin was so translucent I could see the vasodilation of her veins under the clear, pale membrane.  
  
She was blushing furiously and there was a crease of confusion between her eyebrows above eyes that were wide and staring. 

Fuck. I had not handled this well. I didn't know what was wrong with me. 

I drew back. Mentally rebuilding the walls and barriers that had somehow come crashing down between us. 

Perhaps honesty was exactly what was needed now. Staring straight ahead I spoke matter of factly. Thankfully my other bodies were alone and I was able to speak in unison. It gave my words more force.

"We can't be friends, Rook Thomas. These _ \- personal - _ conversations should not take place between us. This," I motioned from myself to her, dismissing the most intense kiss of my life with the wave of a hand, "can _ not _ happen again."

There was a huff of disbelief from beside me, but I didn't dare make eye contact. I stretched my legs out in front of me and determinedly closed my eyes. 

I didn't change position for the rest of the drive. Even when Myfanwy had the driver stop in some random place and drop her in front of a seedy looking bar, I acknowledged this only with a a glance out the window as we drove away.

I didn't sleep well that night. 

I wanted to bring all my bodies back to London. To regroup. To contain my emotions.

I assessed the bare minumum I needed to accomplish in Budapest and Paris. I had my assistant book return flights to London within the week. Teddy turned down the central heating in my London apartment and Eliza pulled my favourite quilt out of the wardrobe. Flicking it out over my bed, I burrowed under it. Two bodies at least in a cozy, familiar bed. Normally, I found the sound of rain and wind on my apartment windows soothing and sleep inducing. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, just as the rain began to cease.


	5. The Supernatural

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter is very heavy with Daniel O'Malley content - the plot, wording and universe creation is all his - I'm really just rearranging it.
> 
> This main event is taken from Chapter 5 p.72 onwards in "The Rook" by Daniel O'Malley
> 
> \---

The Checquy Group was composed of hundreds of individuals. Some possessed powers beyond the normal population. The non-powered members were simply the cream of their respective occupational crops. They had equal courage, skills and training, but none of them had the supernatural edge that is most often needed in the crises we faced. So only powered members of the Checquy could rise to the governing body - the Court. 

As citizens of a monarchy it seemed presumptuous to have another 'Queen' or 'King', but that was basically how much power our Lady (The Right Honorable Linda Viscountess Linda Farrier) and Lord (Sir Henry Wattleman) had over us. Not only that, the manner we treated our superiors in the Checquy group was very much in line with a formal hierarchy not unlike royalty.

As members of the Court, the Rooks were in charge of all domestic affairs - the administrative guardians of the United Kingdom. If something strange came up within the British Isles -- a little boy with tusks, an animated corpse in an icecream shop, some poor youth who possessed a psychic control over flamingos, or a supernatural war springing up in the village of Bletcham -- the Rooks were the ones who dealt with it. Or delegated the management of the situation to others. I preferred to be involved on the ground if there was a need to mete out violence. I could usually accomplish more on my own than most teams when it came to fieldwork. 

Of the various teams of pawns and retainers, the most powerful were the Barghests - the Checquy's most elite warriors. Six Barghest teams were scattered around the globe under the command of the Chevaliers (the members of the Court responsible for foreign operations), and four teams were based in the United Kingdom under my control. Well, technically under the control of both Rooks, but in practice, I was the one who commanded them. Myfanwy was the one who one who approved their entry into the ranks, reviewed their files, and took care of their maintenance. She knew a lot about each of them, but had actually met very few of them. Apart from, perhaps the ones who were at the Estate with her during her training.

Our time at the Estate only overlapped for one year. I did have a few memories of her as a nine year old. Tiny, pale, with eyes too big for her face. A child that was clearly not cut out for the kind of training that she would experience at the Estate. 

My strongest memory is of meeting her at her graduation, ten years later. She was still tiny and timid, but she had grown into her eyes and her angular jaw. Her features had not changed but no-one looking at her could call her a child.

There was a an elegance that she wore, casually, unaware of her beauty. Unlike myself, trained to be unreadable, her every expression was marked with emotion. Intelligent sensitivity could be traced in the shape of her mouth, and hints of his patience were evident on her brow. All those tiny maturements were not lost on me. 

She stood out amongst her peers, a fascinating and unusual person who drew my attention. 

At one point in the graduation ceremony her glance met mine, and I saw myself reflected in the wide mirror of her eyes. The look on her face reminded me why I have no personal relationships. 

Admittedly, I was wearing Teddy's body at the time - the one that I had cultivated to have the coldest, most unyeilding mannerisms. But, there was such a look of fear and distaste that flitted across her face in that moment, that whatever I might have thought of her, I knew she would never accept me. Never feel comfortable with me. Few people were comfortable with me. I should not have considered it a loss. 

Yet, even then I had felt loss.

In the ten years that she worked as an administrator at the Rookery, she avoided contact with me. However, when Conrad Grantchester rose to the rank of Bishop and moved over to Apex House, I knew that the nomination of Myfanwy Alice Thomas to Rook would be successful (and not just because it fitted with Grantchester's overall plan for the Checquy).

Then we worked together every day. At first I could tell she was terrified of me, regardless of which body I wore. Her palms would be soaked with sweat if we had to shake hands. She would flinch if I came unexpectedly into a room. In stressful situations we tackled together, she would some times become so upset she'd throw up. Yet somehow she managed to excel at her job. 

We had worked as counterparts for two years now and she no longer reacted to my presence with an unconscious freeze, flight or fight response. Still, she still reacted differently to each body I wore. Robert, flustered her. Eliza, intimidated her. Alex, frightened her. And Teddy... well she avoided even the most unexceptionable physical contact. She would barely come within an arms reach of Teddy. 

So, of course, it was only natural that in the weeks that followed the Incident With Eliza, I was careful to only meet her in person as Teddy. There was no chance of getting tangled in a personal conversation when I was dressed as Teddy. Whether she noticed or not, she didn't comment on it.

Every now and then, about once a day, I would happen to glance across at Myfanwy, at the same moment she was looking at me. Her eyes would drop quickly to her feet and a fiery flush would rise almost instantly in her cheeks. Every time I felt a sudden jolt as my heart rate increased in response to the memory that was crossing both our minds. The coppery taste in my mouth would warn me that my own cheeks could soon begin to feel warm. Thankfully, I had the control to pull my mind from one body for the moment that it took to calm my sympathetic nervous system, thus avoiding involuntary responses like blushing.

I still mulled over the possibility that Myfanwy was under the control of my Betrayer; stepping into a new role where she ferreted out my secrets and vulnerabilities. But as the weeks passed I could see just how unlikely it was that she had been manipulated into some kind of ultra spy. The more my suspicions of her motivations decreased, the more my desire to be near her increased. I was finding excuses to see her more frequently than ever, outside of our scheduled Monday, Wednesday and Friday meetings.

The blushing was one indicator - an involuntary response governed the sympathetic nervous system to sudden self-consciousness that can rarely be controlled. 

Another indicator was she still flinched in response to the shrill jangling that indicated a call connected to the Panic Lines of mainstream bureaucracy. 

Late one evening I had dropped by Myfanwy's office (to give her a document that I could easily have passed on through my Executive Assistant or one of my personal staff) when the lights in her office began flash and her phones jangled with that particular tone. I watched her as she flinched involuntarily, then pulled herself together and grimly answered the call. 

Listening to the one sided conversation with Teddy's body, I was also recieving the news myself via a phone call to Alex back at my office.

"-four civilian deaths. Mhmmm. How many thousands of pounds’ worth of property damage are we estimating?"

I leaned back against a mirrored wall and chewed on a jagged nail. Despite what most people thought of Myfanwy, she was good in a crisis. Bishop Grantchester may have manipulated her quick rise in the court, but I knew that she had earned her rank. 

“Our troops have been mobilized?” Myfanwy asked. 

She was scrabbling through some neat stacks of paperwork on her desk until she found a spreadsheet and scanned it. Myfanwy's EA, a calm, collected woman entered the room and looked expectantly towards her boss.  
  
“There’s a team of final-years from the Estate doing covert maneuvers half an hour away from the city limits,” Myfanwy said into the phone. “We’ll dispatch them for initial assistance.” 

There was another pause. "Yes, it's legal," she said, taking the time to explain the legalities concisely. She glanced my way as I rolled my eyes. I would never bother to explain my decisions to a mere Crisis Officer.

Finishing off her conversation, she rapidly summarised for Ingrid's benefit.

"A visiting Argentine official spontaneously manifested the ability to create animals out of ectoplasm - in Liverpool. The only problem is that she can't control these newly spawned luminous fauna. She's having a nervous breakdown, and no one can get near her because of the herd of ghostly green tarucas, jaguars, and llamas surrounding her! Ingrid, call Frau Blümen. Have her dispatch this team." She thrust the spreadsheet at Ingrid and looked at me.

One eyebrow flicked upwards, “Gestalt? Where are your bodies?” 

“One in is Wolverhampton, one in Nottingham, both are on their way to Liverpool. I’m also here in the Rookery in my office.” 

“All right. We’ll need to cut the power and communications in the city. You’ll be able to handle crowd control as well as tactics?”

“Yeah.”

“We need to end this ASAP. Subject is Argentine, so we need the Chevs. Can you call Eckhart? I'll call Gubbins."

The next half hour was taken up with the logistical nightmare of making sure the press had no footage of the supernatural. 

Eliza and Robert had arrived at the scene so I was able to give up to date accounts. “We’re closing in on the target. Hold on—she’s down."

“Dead?” asked Myfanwy intently.

“Yes, it’s confirmed.” 

“And the animal constructs?”

“They’re evaporating."

There was relief in her voice. “Okay, remove the woman and try to sweep up any incriminating stuff. We’re turning the lights on and giving the phones back in ten minutes.”

Myfanwy gave the orders for the services to be returned to the city. Then, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, she smiled at me.

My hearts stuttered, in _ every _ body.

"Only half an hour! We really are very good." She said, with smug pleasure. 

But then we begn to receive frantic calls from people high up in the Home Office; the Department for Environment, Food, and Rural Affairs; the Liverpool City Council; the Liverpool Police Department; the power company; and the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. 

I shrugged. “I'll stick around for a bit and help with these calls, okay? We can take turns."

Her eyes narrowed, suspicious, I had certainly never voluteered to help with something aa mundane as appeasing the bureaucracy before, but she really didn't have time to argue.

“Yes. Okay. In that case, you take this one. I've just got to duck to the bathroom for a sec.” 

She held the phone out to me. Inhaling roughly, I stepped forward through the invisible Teddy-boundary, into her personal space. Our fingers brushed as I took the phone.

Was it my imagination? Or was her breathing as jagged as mine? 

She got up from her desk and fled through the 'hidden' door behind Grantchester's portrait up to her Residence.


	6. Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: the main event is from chapter 32 p.371 in Daniel O'Malley's "The Rook"

Sitting at Myfanwy's desk, doing my best to logically placate the Home Secretary regarding what had happened in Liverpool, I couldn't help but do a scan of the various stacks of paperwork spread out in front of me. It was all fairly standard and extremely tedious...except for the edge of a sheet of handwritten paper that peeked out from under a stack of financial reports.

With a glance toward Ingrid's office, to make sure I was alone, I peeled back the stack and skimmed the words. They were written in Myfanwy's unmistakable handwriting, on a sheet of rose scented stationary.

_ I’ve only ever heard of three people who tried to leave the Checquy. Of those three, the first was a powered individual called Brennan the Intransigent who made a break for it in 1679. He was about to step across the English Channel to France, where he had been lured by the promises of the French government, when he was taken into custody. He was crucified on the cliffs of Dover. _  
_ The second was a soldier in 1802 who was driven insane by something he saw in a burrow at John o’Groats and who fled to his parents’ home. He was carefully brought back to the Checquy stronghold and then buried alive in his village’s graveyard. _  
_ The third was a woman who could grow tentacles out of her back and exuded some sort of alarming toxin through her fingertips. In 1875, she fled to Buenos Aires and managed to live there for three months before the hand of the Checquy caught up with her. Her stuffed body is currently displayed above the mantelpiece in one of the London offices. The little bronze plaque indicates that she lived for six months after they caught her. _   
_ See how the Checquy Group deals with those who try to leave? They like to make examples of them, and they tend to be creative about how they do it. And did I mention that none of those who tried to escape were members of the Court? Can you imagine how much more creative they would be if..._

I replaced the stack of reports with a shaking hand, just before Ingrid wheeled into the room and Myfanwy returned. But, the words I had read whirled around in my head. Who could she be writing to, that she would dare tackle such an incediary topic? What coule possibly have led to this? Unless it was planted there for me to find, and she knew far more than I could have imagined? 

The next day was our three-monthly review of the Barghests. In my sharpest black suit, hair slicked back sternly, I was causing Barghest officers to stand straighter just by glancing their way.

They were all lined up in their uniforms, while Myfanwy and I walked authoritatively down the line. I always noticed how uncomfortable Myfanwy was with this particular ritual. The Barghest troops, with their eyes straight ahead and every muscle clenched, were very aware of the history of both Rooks. 

They knew, for example, that during my sixteen years in the field, I achieved a series of seemingly impossible tasks, culminating with the destruction of a 488-year-old vampire who had been secretly the controlling the wheat industry for 252 of those years. I had been the obvious choice to take the place of my Predecessor when the former Rook had died. My nomination was unanimous.

Myfanwy's nomination - after ten years of administration - was a surprise to almost everyone. Myfanwy was a brilliant administrator, but her knowledge of fieldwork was purely theoretical. Still, she knew the Checquy history, inside and out. It was from her that we learned that the last time the Checquy managed to defeat a vampire in 1980, it took forty-five soldiers to kill a 64-year-old vampire. Her knowledge only demonstrated my competence. 

The Barghest troops placed very little value on her skills as an administrator. They would never be disrespectful towards her, but they wouldn't necessarily want her lecturing them on combat technique. The good thing about Myfanwy was that she never attempted to pompously assert her rank. 

I had certainly known others who had less knowledge who asserted their rank constantly. The Rookery section leader I had started out under - Perry Aviles, came sharply to mind. 

It had taken me a while to recognise the way that Bishop Conrad Grantchester asserted his rank - subtle ways, rarely using pomp and ceremony. By the time I realised just how much he was using me, I had made irreversible decisions. 

I dismissed these reflections as we finished the Barghests' Review and returned to our respective offices. The summary of what I had learned in every important relationship of my life was that no one could be relied on, no one could be trusted. No matter how much the contents of that secret letter played on my mind, I could not afford to hope that Myfanwy Thomas could be trusted. 

\--- 

One morning I arrived at the office to find that my EA had placed 'personal' mail on my desk. Namely, an invitation to the annual Court Christmas party, to be held at the house of Conrad Grantchester. 

I felt my mouth go dry as I stared at it. I laid my hand across my empty belly (Eliza), I swore violently (Robert), I slammed a door (Alex) and just stared at the fancy envelope (Teddy). All the members of the Court were invited, of course, along with their families. Generally at these functions a Court member’s wife will fill the evening in with trying to convice me that they have found Eliza, Robert, Alex and Teddy the perfect partners (or partner - one for all - for the more liberal minded).

But that wasn't what was bothering me, at the thought of the upcoming event. By then it would be six long months since--

Interrupting this line of thought, on the train in London's underground, Eliza's phone buzzed with the news that Rook Thomas had been sent a package containing a human heart. Latching on to the distraction, I made my way to Myfanwy's office, barely tamping down the fury and disgust that was building up in me - at the world in general and a few individuals in particular.

"Now, Rook Thomas, I can assure you that we will get the blood out of your carpet,” Ingrid was saying as I walked in the door. 

“And we’re having it tested for anything unfortunate,” said Dr. Crisp as he swabbed up a minute amount of gore from Myfanwy's desk with a Q-tip and slid it into a zip lock bag. A multitude of his assistants swarmed the room like ants.

Clearly, Myf had thrown the package as soon as she saw it's contents resulting in a splattering of blood across her office. 

“And we’re scanning both the heart and the box for any dangerous devices,” said Security Chief Clovis, taking a break from talking busily to me on his mobile. 

"Alright, I'm here now." I said into Eliza's phone, and hung up. There was a flicker of confusion on Clovis' face as he looked at his mobile and up at the door where I had entered wearing Teddy's body.

“Oh," he said, clearing his throat, and covering his confusion. "See if we can’t trace it through the courier company,” he said to a subordinate who was hulking behind him. “It probably won’t work, but I want to cover every possible base.”

I scanned the room for Myfanwy and my heart gave a lurch as I saw her, cowering in a corner of the room. My first instinct was to scoop her up and kiss those trembling lips. This, was, of-course, unacceptable.

“Rook Thomas, are you sure you won’t come here?" Ingrid was coaxing. "I think you’d find the sofa more comfortable.” 

She whispered something to Dr. Crisp, who said loudly. “Trauma? I shouldn’t think so. She probably just needs a nice strong drink.”

“Or a good slap!” I interjected walking forward. The Pawns and Retainers scattered out of my way as I swept past the trail of blood and stood over Myfanwy. I let all the fear, fury and disgust overflow into my voice. “Look here, Thomas, this is not acceptable behavior from a student, let alone from a Rook of the Checquy! Now stop that shaking, get up, and quit making a fool of yourself in front of the staff."

I took one final look at her. The tousled hair, the slim face devoid of all colour, the long eyelashes, still wet with tears. Steeling myself, I rolled my eyes, and turned on my heel. “Dr. Crisp, Chief Clovis, I expect a copy of the reports on this development. And do try to figure out why _anyone _ would bother sending a heart to Rook Thomas.” 

I strode out of the room, leaving behind me a silence that seemed louder than the chatter had been.


	7. Duck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this event comes from Chapter 34 p.392 onwards in "The Rook" by Daniel O'Malley
> 
> \---

Today I was tightly wound; nerves tensed to ping at the lightest pressure. I had been sent to the secret Estate - Camp Caius. The one place where I could not even _ pretend _ that things were normal - that my life was not spiralling out of control. I couldn't express how much it rankled, that my Betrayer still had so much power over me. That I still had not found my way out of the tangled web that had been woven out of my life. 

It wasn't a situation that could be faced with 'might' or brawn or quick reflexes. Even dedicating one of my bodies to full time research and strategizing had not been helpful. What I needed were allies. True allies that I could trust to help untangle the mess that the Checquy was in, and the trouble that was coming. Yet nothing in my career or training had equipped me for rooting out traitors in the highest levels of our organisation.

I was not a nice person. I knew this. I had very few skills in rapport building. I had also suffered such personal blow that I had no idea how to distinguish the false from the real. I could not predict either loyalty or betrayal.

I had enough information to damage a few reputations, but nothing that would stick. And my Betrayer was clever. They had far more contingency plans and escape routes than I could prepare for. I continued along the path that had been set for me, waiting for an opportunity, but every day I felt more frustrated. My senses were hyper-alert; I scanned every conversation, every letter, every phone call for evidence that might secure my freedom. Nothing helped. 

As I arrived in the backwater part of Wales where the Camp Caius was located, I seethed inwardly. A nondescript road led through some ancient woods to a little steep-walled valley. There was a collection of four ugly box-like buildings, with none of the grace or charm of the actual estate. Their facilities were pitiful. 

I fulfilled this particular duty with only one body. Alex. 

Dressed in black leather motorcycle gear, I looked intimidating enough even without Teddy as backup. I parked in front and made my way into the main hub: the medical unit and labratory. It wasn't just the decor that turned my stomach - cinder-block walls painted the color of bile gleaming nauseatingly under humming fluorescent tubes - but knowing some of the experiments being done here defied even my questionable morality  
  
"Anything new?" I asked.

"Nothing totally new. We're getting better at successful adaptations. A perfectly mundane infant can be radically enhanced—if we crack open its skull and torso on a regular basis and do a little tinkering. And inject it daily with various cocktails of chemicals. And suture a new system of canals and reservoirs into the body. And graft some protective insulation onto its epidermis."

All of my bodies raised an eyebrow at this description.

"The only issue is they’re very delicate. Not many of our most successful grafted children can eat actual food. They just sleep with seven intravenous drips plugged into them, trickling in various nutrients, hormones, and chemicals to make," the lead scientist said, chuckling. "It's not ideal as a lifestyle choice to maintain."

One of his colleagues guffawed at this ponderous piece of levity. With an effort I restrained all but one eyebrow.

"We're not sure why, this particular reaction is occurring...?" A cluster of scientists puzzled over a series of photos that I hoped never to see again.

"We've been over that. I don't know. It's your job to iron out the side effects."

I could feel nausea churning as they showed me the most recent project I had been tasked to check on. Several times I had to remove my focus entirely and pour it into Eliza (at the Elephant and Castle), Teddy (at the Stirling Checquy office) and Robert (at Apex House). 

The process that had been developed to mutate normal people was repugnant to me. I could see why wars had been fought over the Grafters throughout history. They saw fleshcrafting as some kind of grotesque art dorm; radically altering the properties of the human body. They would mold and re-form the raw materials of people. They could liquefy the flesh and bones of a person, resculpt them. They could attach new limbs. The scientists at Camp Caius would light up with delight over the most hideous twisting of the human frame. It made my skin crawl. 

"Well, we're making some progress," he murmured, still caught up in his fascination with horror.

In a short a time as possible, I wrapped up all that needed to be done and retreated beneath my motorcycle helmet, heading for home. I could relax now, in Alex's body, and enjoy the twisting roads at high speeds. With one body alone and functioning on muscle memory I could focus on other important things.

Like Myfanwy Thomas - who wasn't in her office.

It was irritating to have to search for her, when I had just got back from a stack of irritating events at the Stirling Checquy office (not to mention a series of disgusting ones in Wales).

For reasons I wasn't prepared to examine, more and more of my thoughts were consumed by Myfanwy Thomas. All through the day I was aware of her, searching for reasons to come into contact with her. In any meeting or gathering I was acutely aware of her location in a room, her moments of eye contact, her proximity. And it was getting worse. 

Had she truly done nothing to draw my focus to her? No supernatural magnetism?

There was certainly nothing in her behaviour to make me think she was aware of her power over me.

When Ingrid told me where she was, I felt my body go rigid. "What? Surely there are more important things to be done?"

By the time I had traipsed through endless corridors to the labs, I was (in the words of an Australian operative) _ ropeable _.

I entered the main lab just as Myfanwy was re-entering from another door. Ignoring Dr Crisp and his team of scientists, I strode directly toward her, demanding, "What the hell were you doing in there, Myfanwy?” 

Dr. Crisp looked up in surprise. Mentally I chastised myself for adressing her so intimately out loud. I pressed on in my frustration. “The rest of the Court will be here in a couple of hours, and I come back from Stirling to find you meddling with this new acquisition instead of making the necessary preparations for a formal reception and presentation.”

Myfanwy blinked with an expression up of mild bemusement. “All of that has been attended to, Rook Gestalt, I just wanted to make sure that the duck was working properly."

I flinched at the word 'duck'. If this project wasn't a the personal obsession of Sir Henry Wattleman, VC-Enshrouded Co-head of the Checquy, I would have put an end to the embarrassing and ridiculous investigation, myself. Clearly my scowl was not intimidating enough because Myfanwy continued on, unashamed. "You may not recall, but we’ve actually had several false starts in the pursuit of this particular item, and—”

“Are you implying that I am ignorant of what goes on here?” I nearly shrieked in response. “That I have not been spending enough time here in the Rookery?"

There was a little V between her eyes, a confused expression, that all forty of my fingers itched to smooth away. But, of course, I could not touch her. I shoved Teddy's hands into my pockets just to be safe.

"Because if you would like to start going out to the various field operations, Rook Thomas, then you are more than welcome.”

I stared at her. A shiver of pleasure going through_ all_ of me at the intensity of the eye contact. She stared back, with more courage than she'd ever shown in my presence before. For a moment there was defiance in her gaze. It made my hearts beat quicker.

If I was so completely infatuated with a meek and mild Myfanwy, imagine how more a fiery Myfanwy would consume me. I couldn't process how terrifying a thought that was.

She dropped her gaze. “No, Rook Gestalt, that won’t be necessary,” she said, her voice small and quiet. 

“Very well, then. You will probably want to wash your face and get changed,” I said, satisfied with my patronizing tone. This was where I was comfortable. A power imbalance kept the distance wide enough between us. “This is going to be a very important evening.”

“I know that it’s important, Gestalt. I do. That’s why I have asked the subject three questions in order to confirm that it can indeed provide accurate predictions of the future. I’m sure you also want to be confident that we don’t deliver a bogus oracle to the Lord and Lady.” 

“What about the tests that Crisp and the others performed?” I spoke slowly, considering what she was saying.

“I preferred to verify for myself." She made a face, her eyes narrowing and her mouth twisting into a lopsided semicircle. “The prospect of, posing vital questions to an ordinary waterfowl and receiving nothing but but some crap on the table does not appeal to me. I don’t think it would do either of our careers much good.” 

I flinched slightly. It was a fucking fortune-telling duck for god's sake - the potential for humiliation was very real. 

Myfanwy continued in a level tone. “I have asked three questions about this evening. The duck’s answers should be confirmed by the time we are supposed to reveal it to the Court. If it has been proven wrong, then we shall simply say so, and exchange humiliation for embarrassment.” 

“Hmm,” I said thoughtfully. “Perhaps that is not a bad idea. In fact, maybe—” 

I was cut off mid sentence by Spineless Aide #1 (the most irritatingly nondescript of my personal retainers) who whispered that the members of the Court were going to be arriving early.

“How early?” I asked shortly.

“The first car is on its way now,” said Spineless Aide #1 cautiously.

“Now?” Myfanwy and I repeated in aghast unison. 

Spineless Aide #1 looked startled. "Yes, and Sir Henry just called to let us know that he is bringing a special visitor.” 

“A special visitor?” We again said in unison. It was almost like I had two bodies in the room instead of just Teddy.

“Yes, an important visitor who is to be seated to Sir Henry’s right at the dinner table,” said Spineless Aide #1, his voice fading with every word he spoke. Myfanwy and I turned to each other. 

“An important visitor?” I asked accusingly. “The duck didn’t mention this?”

What? No! I didn’t waste a prophetic-duck question on the possibility of unexpected dinner guests. Do you even know how the duck works?”

“No,” I retorted. “And I don’t care. But a special visitor… presumably one who is not in the Checquy—” 

“Who is to be seated at the table next to Wattleman,” Myfanwy continued the thought. “And—” 

“Who has been invited to a secret unveiling,” I added. 

“The secret unveiling of a major supernatural find that could influence the future of the nation,” she said.

“Prime Minister?” I asked.

“Or royalty,” she suggested. 

“Fuck!” we said together, and we bolted. So many things needed to fall into place to make this dinner presentation a success, but at the very least, both Rooks needed be there to greet whoever it was with a proper show of respect. 

United by desperation, I grabbed hold of Myfanwy's hand and pulled her along. She didn't even cringe at the contact. With her small, slender fingers laced through mine, we sprinted through the corridors of the Rookery.


	8. Elevator

Hand in hand; we ran through the labrynthian corridors of the Rookery, cursing Grantchester's paranoid redesigns with every twist. We knocked several Retainers out of our way and sent stacks of paper flying. I was running nearly flat out, tugging Myfanwy by the hand. Adrenaline must have been giving her speed because she was keeping up. 

At one point we ricocheted off someone made out of concrete, and Myf lost a shoe. 

“No time!” I shouted, when she tried to stop. I tugged on her hand. “Leave it!”

She kicked off the other shoe and we kept running. “We need to call Ingrid," she gasped out "---important person--dinner and --sitting next to Sir Henry."

“Out of the way!” I shouted as we rounded a corner and came upon a group of secretaries. They moved back just in time.

“No siblings?” Myf asked frantically. "Maybe --one of them ---meet the guests?"

“They’re all in the field,” I said, panting. “Hold the lift!” 

We paused in front of the doors. It was crammed full. 

“Everybody out,” I commanded. The staff stampeded out -- either in the face of my authority, or the fact that Myfanwy looked about ready to have a heart attack. 

We tumbled into the lift and I pressed the override button, allowing us to go directly to our floor. Myf leaned against the wall as we descended. She was looking at the mirrored wall, her face stricken. “My hair looks like shit,” she wheezed. “I’m in my least impressive suit --have no shoes --and we may have the ruler of the nation coming for dinner—oh God! Will dinner be ready?” 

She fumbled for her phone and came up empty. “Shit, I left it in the office --do you--- have your phone?” 

Leaning over with my hands on my knees, catching my breath, I shook my head.

"What about your --other bodies? Could you put a call through to the --kitchens? Or to Ingrid?”

“I’m doing it now,” I said, slowly regaining control of my breathing

“And ask her to bring me a pair of shoes.”

“Right, shoes,” I agreed from between my knees. Raising my head to look at my disheveled counterpart, a strange force began squeezing the air out of my chest as I looked at her. Emotion restricting the air in my lungs even more than running had done.

“Come here.” I said roughly.

“Why?” 

The flash of suspicious fear and panic in her expression hit me like a slap in the face.

In the headlong sprint I had forgotten that she didn't trust me, that I didn't trust her.

“I’ll fix your hair,” I said evenly, pulling a comb out of my inner coat pocket and holding it up. 

“Oh,” she said, a little chagrined. She turned her back towards me warily, watching me in the full length mirror. I unbent and stood behind her, carefully running my comb through her tousled hair. It slipped like silk between my rough fingers.  
  
I closed my eyes and bit back a moan, phone falling from my fingers (Eliza).  
I stuttered to a halt in the debrief I was leading in Apex House (Robert).  
I swerved dangerously and pulled my motorbike up by the side of the road (Alex).

Myfanwy's eyes glanced up at my reflection and away, as I began rearranging her hair into her favourite upswept style. She smelled like roses -- and warm -- like fresh laundry dried in the sunshine. Her cheeks, already flushed from running, were brightening even further.

“You’re good,” she said, eyes downcast. 

“I have a female body,” I said briskly, thankful that my voice didn't crack. “All right, you look fine.”

Fine. The understatement of the year. She was so beautiful, it hurt to look at her. 

“Thanks." She smiled, self-consciously. "And here, your tie is crooked.” Reaching up, her fingertips accidentally brushed the skin on my neck as she straightened and smoothed my collar. Setting me on fire. 

It was while we were in this pose, with Myfanwy up on her tiptoes, my eyes glued to her face, and both of us flushed with running, that the doors opened.

Both our Executive Assistants were there. Chevalier Anthony Gubbins was there. My new bodyguard—a slim Chinese chick with lots of facial piercings—was there. Everyone was staring.

“Stop that,” Myfanwy said. “Ingrid, how long do we have? Ingrid!”

Myf's EA blinked and then snapped back to herself and handed over a new pair of shoes.

“The first car is just pulling in now, Rook Thomas.”

“And whose is it?”

“Sir Henry, with his guest,” she said apologetically. 

“Damn it!” I exclaimed. We moved rapidly toward the entrance, though not running now. “Do we know who his guest is?” I asked over my shoulder to the retinue.

“No, sir,” said my EA. 

“How long has it been since a prime minister came to the Rookery—hell, since they visited any Checquy installation?” I wondered aloud.

“Thatcher came once, at the beginning of her career,” said Myfanwy promptly. 

“And royalty?”

“Well, only the ruling monarch and the first in line are aware of our existence,” she said. “But the last two monarchs haven’t come more than the once required after they’ve been crowned. I’m certain of that.” 

“And they give us five minutes to prepare.” I seethed. I glanced across at her as we marched forward. The determined set to her jaw, the sharp cheekbones, the encyclopedic knowledge of the Checquy. God, I was so, totally, fucked.

And, as it turned out, fucked was an apt description for the whole evening. The important personage turned out to be some pompous, trumped up 'psychic' who only Wattleman could take seriously. Despite his hessian mumu, mad-scientist hair-do and overall appearance of a prophet of the god of compost; he still succeeded in reducing Myfanwy to tears.

The evening went from bad to worse, as Myfanwy's private testing of the duck's prediction accuracy wasn't fully resolved until the dessert course, and seemed to revolve around whether or not I had a post-dinner coffee. We bore up under an inane and patronizing speech by the special guest who was rapidly pissing off a group of the most dangerous people in the UK.

Then, Wattleman decided that the unveiling should be a private event, only involving himself, his guest and the duck. Which of-course culminated in a climactic debacle of blood and disappointment.

The duck was dead. Wattleman had watched his dream of decades messily and unnecessarily killed in front of him, without receiving any insights from its entrails.

“You unbelievable cretin,” I said to the Hessian Prophet. “We’d already verified that the duck could provide accurate answers to spoken questions.”

“What?” he responded weakly. 

So much for psychic. The Hessian Prophet was bundled off to Myfanwy's office to sign sufficient forms to ensure that he never spoke about the Checquy, the duck, or anything he’d seen. It probably would have been better for the world in general if we had simply cut out his tongue. Or allowed to Bishop Alrich to drain him of all his blood.

But, I wasn't in charge of the administration of our confidentiality processes. And perhaps that was just as well. It had been a long day.


	9. The Betrayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: if you haven't read the book, it might be helpful to know that all the events so far are prior to Myfanwy's memory wipe. Chapter 10 of this fic will be the last pre-memory-wipe ch. Also, book spoilers and non-canon content in this one.
> 
> \---

The holiday season arrived with a swiftness that surprised me. The annual spikes in poltergeist incursions and chronological abductions had begun, and thankfully most of the Checquy staff were too busy to get dejected about our total lack of personal relationships with significant others—either inside or outside the Checquy. The few who did get down at the prospect of spending Christmas alone and unloved -- well, there were therapists and/or suicide for that.

The highlight of the season for many of the upper levels of Checquy staff was the executive party, to which all the station heads around the nation were invited. It was always insufferably boring. The room was filled with people seeking to ingratiate themselves with me and every other member of Court in an effort to advance their careers. Myfanwy spent most of the party looking like a startled rabbit; darting away from people who wanted to tell her how marvelous they were, and why they should be promoted. 

I had my own strategies; mostly involving withering stares, sarcasm and intimidation. Only the the most determined career climbers would attempt to speak with me for longer than a minute.

After a conversation between all four of my bodies and a particularly enthusiastic underling, I made my way across the room to Myfanwy, who let out a sigh.

“You bastard, uh.. or bitch, Gestalt.” she said with a touch of champagne induced confusion, “I can never get rid of someone as quickly as you.” 

Using Eliza's voice, with only a little sneering, I replied, “You let them walk all over you.”  
With dignity, Myfanwy said, “I'm polite.”  
My eyes dropped surreptitiously to her chest (Teddy).  
“What _are _ you wearing?” I asked (Robert).  
"Something recommended by that Greek Woman - Constanopoulos after three and a half thousand years of developing her tastes in fashion,” she replied, thankfully glancing up at Robert and not at any of my other bodies as I devoured her with my eyes.

“Christ,” I said (Alex), trying to make my voice sound light. “If you wanted to avoid attention, you shouldn't have worn that dress.” 

I had never seen her dressed this way. Still understated, and stylish the dress was cut quite low. Both in the front and the back. And on the sides. In fact, it was really just a skirt with straps. It was amazing. All that pale skin. 

I swallowed audibly (Teddy). 

Between Myfanwy's sharp collarbones was a delicate necklace inlaid with opals. Unable to resist, I reached out (Eliza). My fingers curled around the necklace. I could feel her warm skin and rapid pulse against the back of my fingers as I brushed her neck. 

"This is pretty." (Robert and Eliza)

My brain functions seemed to be seizing up. Any more contact and I would be kissing her, there in front of all these people. At least she seemed as incapable of coherent thought as I was. I snatched my hand away.

Myfanwy was flushed, eyelashes fluttering as she looked down. 

Bishop Grantchester was walking across the room towards us. “Head up, Rook Thomas, I think Grantchester's noticed your dress.” 

Myfanwy looked up and then back at me. "But he's here with his _wife_ tonight," she hissed.

I tried again to keep my voice light, but failed to hold back the bitterness in my tone. “Since when has that stopped him?"

I turned with all four bodies and started to walk away, but Myfanwy grabbed hold of the nearest arm, forcing one of them to stay.

“You,” she whispered to Alex, “are not going to abandon me. I need back up.” 

Bishop Conrad Grantchester was in his fifties, and extremely handsome. He advanced on Myfanwy and I; exuding confidence from every pore (along with tendrils of inky black smoke that seemed to float along his shoulders). I never let myself dwell for too long on my history with Conrad. Every time thoughts of him intruded, they came with something darker and sharper edged than smoke.

“Good evening, Gestalt” he said, flashing me a faint smile. "Good evening, Myfanwy, my dear, you look stunning tonight." He was turning the full force of his mesmerizing gaze on Myfanwy who managed to stutter out a response while blushing furiously. 

“I don’t suppose you’re going to take a break over the holidays?”

“Um, well, someone has to keep the skeleton crew running,” Myfanwy said.

“We can always rely on you,” he said, smiling. “And how is the residence? Does the decor continue to delight?”

“Well, Bishop Grantchester, the decor continues to continue,” Myfanwy said politely, her fingertips digging into my arm. "In fact, that reminds me, there was something I needed to show Rook Gestalt. Do you think anyone will notice if we duck out to the office for a few minutes?"

Grantchester's warm expression didn't change, but I knew him well enough to see irritation in the slightest flicker of the skin of his brow. "If you must interrupt pleasure with work, Myfanwy, I'm sure no-one will question it."

"Ah, great! Well, lovely to see you!" Firmly clutching my arm she turned us around and marched purposefully off towards the doors. 

She continued walking all the way to her office, without speaking. She was blinking rapidly and close to tears. I allowed my self to be guided; very aware of her small warm hand in the crook of my arm. Back in the office she released me and turned away.

I leaned on the desk and began nibbling on the rough edge of a fingernail. "So," I said eventually. "Do you actually have something you need to show me?"

She swung around to face me, wringing her hands, eyes wide and liquid with unshed tears. "No. Yes. Not really. I don't know... it's all so confusing!" 

I eyed her warily. I had to be careful here. If I wasn't careful... well... the Residence was right there... I could guide her up to there... touch all of the delicious places her skin showed through the dress.

I swallowed.

I went to sit down, arms crossed, staring off into the distance (Robert, Eliza and Teddy). I needed to concentrate. Provoke Myfanwy to be angry with me. Not follow the path my thoughts were taking.

"I'm not sure that it is, Rook Thomas," I drawled. "What's so confusing about sexual attraction? Caroline Grantchester doesn't seem to care about his illicit liaisons. If you want him, why hold back?"

Myfanwy glared at me and I felt a twinge of triumph not unmixed with disappointment. "Shut the fuck up, Gestalt," she snapped. "That's the least of my worries."

"And what are your worries?" I was aiming for a tone of derision, but to my horror, my words came out sounding concerned and softly coaxing.

She blinked back tears and shrugged her gorgeous shoulders. "I --I don't... it doesn't matter. It's just that t-t-'night I feel..." She came to a stuttering halt.

Her blue eyes, shining in the low light of the unoccupied office, were like a powerful force that drew me in. I found myself pushing off the table and moving towards her. 

Slowly. Catlike. Giving her plenty of time to move back, or away, to break the connection our eyes were creating.

She stayed incredibly still, her breath starting to come quickly. I glanced down at her lips. The lips I had kissed with Eliza's mouth. The memory of that kiss was destroying all sense of control or caution.

I had never kissed anyone with Alex's mouth. I moistened my lips with my tongue, a nervous gesture that I should have controlled. Normally all of my gestures were conscious movements, designed to give others the illusion that I was four different people; four distinct personalities. To make them feel comfortable.

I reached out and brushed the exposed skin on Myfanwy's sides with my fingertips. Her breath caught. Her eyes slid shut as I closed the distance between us. Our lips met and pressed together with a ferocity that had not been there in the Incident with Eliza. Her hands wound around my neck and we crashed together in a tangle of eager limbs. She parted her lips and flicked her tongue out in cautious exploration. 

All four of my bodies were burning with the delight of the sensations. I longed to have all eight of my hands there to touch and hold her. As we kissed I could feel a fluttering awareness of her in each of my bodies. A feeling that she knew she was kissing every part of me.

Despite her size (stretched up on tiptoes while I ducked to meet her) there was a lithe strength in her body as she leaned into me. I started moving backwards until the back of my legs bumped the edge of the sofa off to one side. Scooping her up I dropped into the sofa and she straddled my lap. Deliciously warm, rubbing against me with a desire that matched mine.

I vaguely heard someone approaching, but it took a big effort to turn Eliza's head to see Grantchester standing over me looking smug, I pulled myself to standing, somewhat unsteadily. 

"Is this what your siblings were like when _we_ were having sex, Eliza?" Grantchester murmured in my ear, motioning to Teddy and Robert sitting motionless and staring into space, hands clenched on their knees.

I had to focus. I pulled back from Myfanwy's embrace breathing hard, and held her firmly away from me. I couldn't afford to let my enemy, my Betrayer, suspect that I felt anything at all for Myfanwy. It was just the sort of information he would use against us both.

"Not at all, Conrad," I said, forcing a smile (Eliza). "I'm quite able to compartmentalise when engaging in something as menial as sex."

Making sure the more obvious parts of my body were calm, I stood (Robert). "I think you'll find that I get more distracted during boring social gatherings like this one."

I slid my hands under Myfanwy and lifted her off my lap. Depositing her on the sofa and standing up, in one swift movement. "I'm sorry, Rook Thomas. This was inappropriate and entirely unnecessary. I apologise. I must get back to the party." Without allowing myself to look at her stricken face, I turned and walked quickly away. 

"In fact," I drawled (Teddy). "Once Alex gets back with this new lead Myfanwy's provided about the Antler Cult, I think it's best if I call it a night."

Grantchester's eyes were narrowed. "Hmmm... well, there is something I need you to do tomorrow. The head of the Bath section, Pawn Goblet, needs some assistance with a special project I've authorised... off the record, you understand. I know you'll do everything that's needed to make it successful."

My stomachs churned at the thought of what the 'special project' might be. I arrived at the door and looked in (Alex). Catching Grantchester's eye I nodded at him.

"Understood, sir. I'll go to Bath tomorrow," I said (Robert).  
"Goodnight, Conrad." I said crisply (Eliza).  
"See you at the next Christmas party." (Teddy)  


Tamping down every emotion and disappointment, I left the Rookery, walking in unison.


	10. Grantchester

My history with Conrad Grantchester could not be ignored all the time. There were moments that had to confront it face on. So two days before Christmas, I found myself knocking on the very lovely door of Mr. and Mrs. Conrad Grantchester’s very lovely house by the river. All eight of my hands sweating profusely.

Grantchester did not join the Checquy until he was well into his thirties. Born to an upper-middle-class family in London and educated at Eton and the University of Geneva. He was popular, although he did not take part in any extracurricular activities other than cutting a rather broad swath through his female peers. The Checquy tried to recruit him a number of times but though he was quite ambitious, he did not hold any political ideologies, apart from the value of money and profit. Nothing the Checquy offered appealed to him. He went on ro distinguish himself in the areas of law and finance.

When his EVA manifested, (the ability manufacture a variety of chemical compounds inside his body and then vent them through his pores in the form of a fine mist), he was finally drawn into the Checquy. I had already been out on the field for several years and I watched his rapid ascent from Pawn to Rook to Bishop, with some awe. As Bishop he gained oversight of the entire organization, and quickly proved himself a shoo-in to lead the Checquy when Wattleman or Farrier shuffles off this coil (if they ever do). I never particularly liked Grantchester, but I respected his brillant maneuvering and innovative negotiating skills.

He began maneuvering me with a style and skill that ensured I would never suspect his aims. Hindsight is a great teacher. Looking back I can identify all the indicators of his manipulation. He began slowly and subtly insinuating his ideas into my mind. Playing on my own unacknowledged vulnerabilities and prejudices.

In many ways he analysed and knew me better than I know myself. That was what made him dangerous. 

He didn't begin with seduction. It wouldn't have worked if he had. For the first few years as his Rook counterpart I watched the way he hid his amorous activities with both outside stakeholders and quite a few female Checquy employees. It was impressive how he avoided blackmail or entanglements. I never guessed or imagined that he would turn his sights on me. Besides, I was too distracted by the up and coming Pawn Myfanwy Thomas to even consider Grantchester with longing or amour.

So, it took me by surprise, in my fourth year as Rook, when Grantchester had moved up to Bishop, that he continued to make time for me. He would still regularly drop by the Rookery, or invite me up to his office at Apex House—the Checquy's ultimate headquarters. It was distinguished-looking, a large crescent-shaped structure, with columns and restrained decorations around the windows. The base of the Lord and Lady and the Bishops, it contained much of the legal and financial apparatus for the organization. It suited Grantchester to a tee.

He seemed bigger in that context. Like he gained stature from his position and status. And, for a few months, when I began to notice that he was moving towards seduction, I Iet myself be carried along on that tide. I would only visit him with Eliza's body. I felt flattered by his attentions. I needed the distraction of casual sex, to keep me from dwelling constantly on thoughts of the new Rook who had taken Conrad's place.

I knew what ever physical connection we had would be brief, and I was curious about exploring a sexual connection using a different body. Though Robert was still my go to.

I did not expect to get pregnant.

I did not expect him to be excited about my baby.

I did not expect him to use all of his power and skills to conceal my pregnancy and provide a safe place to grow his child in secret.

I was experiencing a landslide of new emotions. The effect of pregnancy on my body. My fierce attachment to my unborn child. His gentle,treatment of me throughout those last 6 months when my belly was growing and I was in 

So I was completely unprepared for what came next. In my most vulnerable moment, when I had birthed the most important, most beautiful, most perfect human child in existence (apparently all mothers and fathers think that about their child); in that moment, Grantchester came.

He had no interest in our child. He didn't even look at the baby suckling at my breast. It didn't matter to him what we had created together. But his eyes were bright, almost feverish, as he looked at me. He focused his gaze on Alex, Teddy and Robert, seated around the bed where Eliza lay.

"Is there a connection?" He asked eagerly.  
I looked at him blankly, from eight sets of eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Can you see through its eyes? Is it connected to you?”  
I was confused, “but EVAs don’t transfer from parents to children... why do you think the baby would be connected to me?”  
Grantchester began to pace, back and forth. Excitement colouring his voice. “I’ve been trialling a new chemical mixture that I can create, my scientists say that it might contribute to genetic modification during conception. I used it whenever we were together. Maybe we should get a scientist in here to test it and check if it..." he waved his hand in the general direction of the newborn boy, "...has inherited any of our EVAs. It might not show up this early without expert testing.”

I stared at him aghast. The thought of a scientist touching my baby. Testing him. Treating him the way I had been tested by medical personnel at the Estate. It made me feel sick in my stomach.

I would do _anything _ to keep him from that. I hoped for a normal life for my son, not the life of a science experiment.

In that moment of vulnerability, the unguarded words that I said next, Grantchester learned everything that he needed, in order to control me and bend me to his will.

And now, here I was. Snow falling lightly, on the steps of the house where my child was being held, as insurance against any thought I might have of exposing Granchester as a traitor. It had been six months since I last held him, since I last kissed his sweet cheeks and smelt that downy baby hair. I had no idea how Grantchester was going to use him against me tonight. I was prepared for anything. 

The door was opened by a subdued-looking maid. “Please, come in,” she said. 

“The Gestalt siblings! Lovely to see you, do come in out of the snow.” Caroline Grantchester, thirty-nine years old, was wearing a cocktail dress the color of champagne, and she was beautiful, with dark hair, the bluest eyes in the world, and a figure that proved beyond all doubt that the baby (_my_ baby) was 'adopted'. Well, that and the letterpress announcement we’d all recived in the mail six months ago, that the Grantchesters were adopting a baby.

“Hello, Eliza," said Grantchester as the maid took my coats. “Robert, --Alexander, Theodore."

"Merry Christmas.” I said, with as much graciousness as I could muster (Eliza).   
"Thanks so much for having us" (Robert).  
I stood there awkwardly, trying without success to relax my shoulders (Alex and Teddy).

Pleasantries exchanged, I walked around the corner to join the party, and nearly died from an electric shock of emotion. Directly ahead of me, standing beside a tall young man in the sitting room, was Myfanwy Thomas, and in her arms, longer and chubbier was my baby. 

She looked awkward and unsure of what to do with the infant in her arms. She was beautiful.

Seeing her holding my baby, made it hard to breathe. Grantchester Junior—as they were calling him, really did not seem to have any of Conrad's genetic imprint. I would have expected him to have black hair or caramel skin. Instead he was the mirror image of myself as a baby - an adorable little child with white blond hair, who looked like he should be toddling around naked with a bow and arrow and a set of fluffy little wings.

It was in that moment that the baby looked up at me, and I felt something entirely unexpected. It was the ghost of a feeling at first, like a phantom limb. But it grew stronger every second. It wasn't recognition in the baby's eyes, it was connection. Six months apart was a too long a period, for an infant to recognise his mother on sight alone. This feeling - it was similar to the way my four bodies were connected, but it was tenuous. 

I stared at Myfanwy as her slim arms cradled the baby. My heart constricted with an emotion I couldn't name. With all the discipline I had developed over a lifetime of training - I pulled myself together. I spread out to do a circuit of the room, greeting various people, having separate conversations. But I hardly knew what I was saying. My focus was on that phantom limb... no, not a limb... that phantom... body.

Grantchester had been right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here ends Part One of the fic.
> 
> To everyone who (like me) _ loved _ that TVMyf and Gestalt got it on prior to her losing her memory... I'm sorry.
> 
> BookMyf and Gestalt just weren't ready.


	11. Fieldwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This event is taken from Chapter 4, p.62 onwards of "The Rook" by Daniel O'Malley and also Chapter 3, p.25 onwards from the sequel "Stilletto".
> 
> Musical Inspiration from:
> 
> "Hate Me (Sometimes)" by Stand Atlantic
> 
> Oh, where did I go wrong?  
Limbs in a noose  
Thought I'd be better  
But I'm written off to tell you the truth
> 
> Dead in the water  
Carry me home  
Get off on whiplash  
I'm losin' myself red and I'm blue
> 
> I set fires so deliberately  
'Till I taste the smoke  
On every part of me  
My hands are promised to my dirty jeans  
But I would sell myself to almost anything
> 
> I don't need your help  
You should probably save yourself  
There's blood on my hands  
(You should probably save yourself)
> 
> I think I like the way you hate me sometimes  
Hate me sometimes (take it back)  
You come and go just like the bones I'm breaking
> 
> \---

~ PART TWO ~  
**A Lost Myfanwy **  
-~-

Something changed, between Myfanwy and I, after the Court Christmas party. I couldn't pinpoint what had caused the change on her end, but for me it was Richard Fucking Eckhart. 

The son of a famous Checquy Chevalier, one of the soldiers I most admired; he was so fucking _normal_. With his fucking normal smile and his fucking normal body and his fucking normal brain, he had stuck by Myfanwy all evening. She was talkative, smiling, flirting mildly, and entirely confident. 

I managed to have one body eavesdropping on them at all times; so, I knew that their conversation had revealed more about Myfanwy Thomas in one evening than I had been able to get to know over many years.

Meanwhile, both times I had attempted to speak with Myfanwy during the party, her poise had disintegrated into stuttering shyness. Then Richard would come back from refilling her glass of punch and she would smile with relief. Her body would relax as she turned to him. As though she _liked_ normal. As though she wanted to be normal too.

I felt the distance between us widen further than it had ever been. The other day, in the elevator, I had thought, just for a moment, that she might feel something for me. But watching her now I knew I was deluded.

The truth of this stabbed painfully in a soft and private place that I was usually able to ignore. 

What was wrong with me?

I knew what I was good at. Emotions were not necessary. I needed to focus.

As soon as the party was over I threw myself into work like never before. Myfanwy had been taking up so much space in my head and I was hell bent on: Getting. Her. Out.

The next time I saw her was after a weekend of intense fieldwork. Perhaps if she hadn't changed. If she had been the same as usual. Maybe I would have been able to finally push her out of my mind. After all, it was clear to me that what she wanted in a potential love interest was: normality, people skills and mundanity. None of which I could offer.

But, confusingly, she was different too.  
As I entered her office (to the soundtrack of Ingrid's formal announcement) Myfanwy bounced forward. “The Rooks Gestalt, as I live and breathe!” she exclaimed in exaggerated rapture. She looked at me as though she was seeing me for the first time. “Gentlemen, please, have a seat,” she invited, gesturing to the uncomfortable chairs in front of her desk.

We moved forward in unison, but took our seats with the practiced nuances individual to each body. One sprawling, one sitting to attention.

“Well, you’re both looking very nice,” she said, looking us over.

How odd.

“Thank you,” I said, staring at her thoughtfully (Alex), while I directed my attention to straightening my pants (Teddy). The hair Myfanwy had swept back into a clip was coming loose, and her suit was rumpled. She’d neglected makeup entirely, and two black eyes lent her the appearance of a raccoon. A raccoon that had gotten hit in the face. After a lifetime of poor nutrition. 

Was it my imagination, or had she lost weight in the week since I'd last seen her?

“We only just got back from that operation in Essex,” I said (Teddy). “You’re looking, ah, a little different, Myfanwy.”  
“It’s the black eyes,” I suggested (Alex).  
“No,” I disagreed with myself (Teddy). “It’s something else.” 

A range of expressions danced across Myfanwy's face, but none of them were expressions that sat naturally on her. She watched me shift in the chairs and didn't speak.

“So, what happened to your eyes?” I asked (Teddy). 

“Oh, uh, someone tried to mug me,” she said. 

WHAT?

“But you’re all right?” I asked. How had I not heard about this incident? Had anyone punished the bastard who tried to mug her?

“I’m fine,” said Myfanwy. “A bit achy, but fine.” She looked back at me, eyes calm.

“Interesting…,” I mused (Alex). She must have had to use her powers. Why wasn't she more freaked out by that? ...unless Richard Fucking Eckhart had been with her at the time and resolved it in some kind of mind numbingly non-violent way.

“So, where are your siblings hanging out nowadays?” she asked. I stared at her. It wasn't at all like Myfanwy to take an interest in fieldwork. 

“Eliza is leading a team in Aberdeen, chasing down that antler cult,” I said dismissively. “Robert is back in our office.” 

“Well, I hope they’re keeping well,” she said pleasantly. Her expression became abstracted. She wasn't listening to my response. I found myself fighting back a smile as I rambled on and she looked into the middle distance. Her mind clearly on other things.

Her gaze came back to me with a bit of a jolt. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”  
  
“Alex was just explaining that we know they’re fine,” I drawled in my most patronizing tone. 

Instead of unsettling her, she sat up a little straighter. “Ah, of course, of course,” Myfanwy agreed sharply. She was irritated with me, and was letting it show. “They’re fine. You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re all fine. Can I get you a beverage?” 

I ordered coffee (Teddy) and orange juice (Alex). Then it was my turn to get distracted. 

I walked into a cramped little command center (Eliza). There were floor plans tacked up on the walls and laptop computers glowed on various surfaces. A flat-screen TV sat precariously on a cardboard box showing camera feeds from around the outside of the target house. 

People bustled around examining the plans on the walls, staring at screens, bending over plastic cases, and checking the guns that glinted in their little foam beds. 

"Suit up. I want everyone ready to depart in five minutes.” I announced.

“Is this a rescue job?” asked Pawn Kirkman. 

“That depends on what we find,” I said grimly. “So move quickly, but move right.” 

The team snapped into action, everyone knowing what his or her role was. The support staff had backed up against the walls, the team members began donning their dense black armor. 

I opened my plastic trunk and stripped off with total disregard to the crowded room. First I put on a bodysuit of thin stretchy material with a built-in sports bra. Then a set of the black coveralls. I rubbed Vaseline over my feet and pulled on some tactical-grade socks, stepped into a pair of large boots and laced them up tightly. Then came the combat armor; dense plastic greaves, vambraces, and rerebraces that would protect my limbs. A breastplate, one that made no attempt to acknowledge my gender. 

“Will you need night vision?” asked the attendant as he fitted a helmet with a transparent faceplate over my head.

“Not this time,” I replied. He presented me with a couple of different weapons. A steel combat knife was sheathed on one thigh, a dense industrial-plastic blade on the other. I holstered my nine-millimeter pistol on my hip. 

All the team members were ready, waiting for the orders, their calm stillness hinting at their potential for supernatural violence.

In Myfanwy's office, my coffee and orange juice had arrived. The silence in the room felt awkward as I sipped my drinks. I cast around for some kind of small talk. 

“I understand you came in a little late this morning,” I commented (Alex).

“Huh?”  
“Well, normally you’re the second person in the Rookery, after that assistant of yours,” I continued, then came to the end of my ideas for how to start a conversation.

“Yes?” said Myfanwy. “Well, I… had an appointment.” 

I gazed at her expectantly, watching as her irritation with me seemed to increase. “A gynecologist appointment.” She smiled triumphantly at me. “To have my vagina checked,” she added. 

I nodded in unison, somewhat disconcerted. Myfanwy had never used the V word with me before - even when talking with Eliza. It was beyond strange. When I didn't respond she seemed to think she needed to keep speaking.

“And… it’s still… there. And okay.” 

I cleared my throat. “That’s… good,” I said. Truly it wasn't helpful for me to start thinking about Myfanwy's vagina. It was the opposite of helpful. Of-course several of my brains were now fixated on the thoughts.

“Yes, anyway, let’s get down to business. Okay, let’s see…” She shuffled through papers on her desk, looking a little lost.

“I believe you have some documents for me to sign,” I said (Alex). 

“Yuh,” she said shortly, suddenly discovering the stack in her outbox where she always left them. “So, um, you need to sign these… things… which I have already signed, I think.” She flipped through them hurriedly. “Yes, I have signed them, and now you need to. So, here is a letter to the… Prime Minister… of Great Britain that states that we are aware of nothing he needs to know about.” She passed the documents over to me. 

I could feel her eyes one me as I divided the stack evenly and began producing identical signatures simultaneously, one body using my left hand (Teddy), one with my right (Alex). 

“You missed this one,” I said, handing a contract back. She froze and looked at me warily for a second before she accepted it back.

What had I done to frighten her? 

She took a breath. Peered down at the document and then back up at me. Seeing my eyes on her, she smiled tightly at me; a formal, polite smile that she had rarely ever bothered to use with me. 

She signed the document with a flourish and then gathered them all back into a stack. “All righty, thanks. I’ll take those and make sure they get to… where they need to go. Now, this week’s schedule. Okay, it looks as if I’ve got rather a lot of meetings with accountants about—” 

“I’m about to go into the headquarters of the cult,” I interrupted her. “Do you want commentary?” 

“Uh, sure,” said Myfanwy. “Should I take notes?” 

“Not necessary,” I said through two mouths. “The teams are equipped with recording material. We’re gathering at the door, and Pawn Kirkman is looking through it. He’s signaling that there are three people on the other side—armed."

As I ran through the event, both verbally and physically, I noticed that Myfanwy was on the edge of her seat. Alert but not alarmed. She listened with an intensity and interest that I had never seen her direct towards fieldwork. There was a coolness and poise in her responses that I had not seen before. She didn't jump, flinch or burst into tears.

Something had changed. 

I just had no idea what...


	12. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The event from this chapter is covered in Chapter 6, p.78 onwards in "The Rook" by Daniel O'Malley...
> 
> \---

Walking downstairs to attend the emergency interrogation, I was still reflecting on my odd meeting with Myfanwy that morning. As always I was eager to see her, walking a little quicker at the thought of her. I came to the pair of massive iron doors leading to the lift and placed both my hands flat against the metal plate set in the door. The metal warmed underneath my palms, the doors opening slowly, with a sound of grinding gears. 

Descending many floors underground I felt a nervous energy spurring me forward. I wondered if the strangeness to Myfanwy's behaviour this morning would continue?

As soon as I entered the room I knew it would. Perry was standing over Myfanwy in his usual overbearing style, however she wasn't shrinking away from him. In fact, he seemed to be wilting under her fixed stare. 

“You’re spitting on me,” Myfanwy said coldly. He stammered something as she wiped her face with a napkin. I bit back a laugh and stepped forward. Perry's gaze darted nervously towards me. “Rook Gestalt,” he said, with a polite nod. “Good afternoon.” 

Myfanwy swung around to face me and then stepped back. Bewilderment was flickering across her face, followed by inquisitive inquiry. Her eyes flicked over my casual khakis and short-sleeved shirt, as I moved forward. 

“Good afternoon, Perry,” I said smoothly, and then turned my attention back to the subject of my thoughts. “Myfanwy, you are looking well,” I said, smiling down at her. She blinked both black eyes at me doubtful.

“I’m dreadfully sorry this has come up, I know how these questionings upset you. We shall simply have to endeavor to endure it.” Her brow creased, then, in irritation. She was feeling patronized, again. I offered her my arm. She took it hesitantly, and I felt her power wash over me as our skin made contact.

I forced myself to conceal any reaction to her exploration of my bodies. 

It was as if I was a pool of water, whose currents were winding their way in four streams, and a force had plunged into the stream. A force with the power to reach out and disrupt the course of those streams—re-channel them, warp them, or stop them from flowing. Unlike in the 'Incident with Eliza' when she had purposefully demonstrated her power to me, there was nothing in her expression to indicate that she was intentionally threatening me. 

If anything, what I was reading in her face was bemusement. She allowed herself to be ushered into one of the chairs in the center, and a retainer dressed in purple handed her a cup of coffee. Coffee that smelled creamy and sweet. Not her usual choice.

“My Rooks, lady, and gentlemen,” Pawn Ketterman came forward, looking uncomfortable to be dressed in a suit rather than combat gear, “we have had this individual under surveillance since he entered the country three days ago. His passport is for a Peter Van Syoc of Holland, and his cover was a business trip for his employer, the Zeekoning Fishing Company. Upon his arrival at Heathrow from Amsterdam, certain factors caught the attention of our agents, and in accordance with the procedures codified by Rook Thomas, he was placed under discreet observation...."

I listened half heartedly, my awareness centred on the person beside me. Myfanwy was tense. That was normal. She turned to look at her EA, and smiled reassuringly at her. That was not normal.

The EA looked as startled as I felt, to see Myfanwy smiling in this context. 

  
Myfanwy turned back to face the front. As she shifted, the carefully folded wax-paper bag she had sat down on, crinkled beneath her. She pulled it out and looked at it as though she'd never seen a motion sickness bag.

“Gestalt?” she said, turning to me, frowning as though I had offended her. “What’s this?”  
  
I looked at her, and raised my eybrows. “You always have a paper bag. You know how often these interrogations make you ill,” I said, cautiously.

“Oh, of course. I simply did not expect to sit on it,” Myfanwy replied, her cheeks turning pink.

Pawn Ketterman finished his introductory speech, all of which I had reviewed in the email he'd sent me prior to coming down. The red curtains in front of us trembled and then parted. The lights in the room dimmed. Through a thick pane of glass was a room tiled in a pale blue. Soft lights glowed from the ceiling. Seated upon a thickly cushioned dentist’s chair was a man with his eyes closed. The sleeves of his shirt had been carefully cut off, and the pants legs had been rolled up.

There were soft cloth straps binding him to the chair at his wrists, waist, and ankles. 

“Oh God,” Myfanwy murmured under her breath. I watched her tensing as Dr. Crisp entered the interrogation room. He looked the same as ever: round glasses, dressed in scrubs, and wearing a surgical mask. 

A hush descended upon the room as Crisp rested his hands on the man’s hair and then began probing with his fingers, tracing the contours of the scalp. He leaned back slightly and spoke rapidly into a microphone that hung from the ceiling. “His ancestors hail almost exclusively from Western Europe, except for a great-grandfather from Poland,” he said.

Perry gave a snort, and Crisp froze. I tuned out as Crisp continued, with Perry interrupting regularly and obnoxiously. Myf was listening intently, showing no signs of her usual nausea. At one point, she jotted down a note on her pad; I subtly tried to sneak a peek, but she covered it. “What else do you see, Dr. Crisp?” she asked. 

I didn't catch his response. I was too shocked. Through every previous interrogation I had witnessed Myfanwy be sick, cry, or leave early. I had never seen her ask a question in this room. I had to force myself not to stare. My mind raced.

What could possibly have happened in the 6 days since I had last seen her? I thought back to the final moments of the Court Christmas party. Richard Fucking Eckhart 'kindly' offering to drive her home. Chevalier Eckhart's Fat Fucking Wife looking on smugly as her matchmaking efforts came to fruition. I had been fuming. But beneath my anger there had been an element of despair. As much I wanted to hate the Eckhart family, I could see that they were decent.

But what if they weren't? What if Richard Fucking Eckhart deserved my hatred? What if _he_ had given Myfanwy those black eyes?

I was mobilised into action.  
I scoured our information database and found 3 addresses where R.F.E would be likely to be found at this time of day (Teddy).  
Still in my combat gear I pulled on a motorbike helmet and threw my leg over my favourite BMW (Eliza).  
Dropping everything I walked out of the office (Alex).

The comments between Perry and Crisp had devolved into the shouting of incomprehensible insults and pounding on the glass that separated them. Everyone else watched in rapt fascination. Except Myfanwy who stared disbelievingly at them. I was amused to see Myfanwy looking to me to sort it out. I had no intention of intervening.

“Gentlemen,” Myfanwy said, frowning. But most of the other men in the room had risen and were adding to the clamor.  
  
“Gentlemen,” she repeated, raising her voice a little. Still no response. 

“Gentlemen!” she finally shouted, and her voice cut through the noise like a scythe through a poodle. There was dead silence. Everyone stared at her, looking as stunned as I had been feeling. “You all need to shut up and stay focused on the task at hand. Dr. Crisp, if you will turn your eyes back toward the interrogation, I wonder if you could revive the subject and question him.” 

All eyes swiveled back to Dr. Crisp, who obediently returned to his subject and finished the passive physical examination. There was little in that to interest me, but once the more invasive, chemically induced part of the interrogation began I leaned forward, interested in what the subject might say. 

“For whom do you work?” All Crisp received in answer was a terrified stare. Crisp sighed and pressed the wrist he held. Van Syoc cried out, and this time it was words. 

Words that made every person in that room freeze in horror.

Perhaps that was why I went in so strong when R.F.E opened the door to his apartment. The terror of a potential Grafter Invasion (probably funded by Grantchester himself) giving further adrenaline to my anger. Or maybe I was just annoyed with him for still being in University and lazing around at home on a work day.

Either way; the result was the same.  
I pushed him backwards with two hands (Eliza)  
"Did you fucking hit her?" (Alex)

He stumbled back from me, confusion replacing the curiosity he'd opened the door with. "What?"

I followed him into the room with both bodies, letting the door slam shut behind me. "Myfanwy," I said through clenched teeth. "You're the last person I saw her with, and now she has two black eyes. Did. You. Hit. Her?" (Eliza)

He was stuttering out an unintelligible response. I stalked forward and lifted him off the floor by the front of his shirt, slamming him up against a wall (Alex)

"You better tell me a believable story fast Richard Fucking Eckhart. Because I'd like nothing more than to smash in your pretty-boy face."

Genuine fear flashed across his very normal features. "I - I will! I can! Just let me -- go and I'll tell you --anything you want to know." 

I released him and stepped back. He was breathing hard, my heart rate had barely changed.

"I drove her home. She... well she kissed me in the car. But then, nothing happened. She didn't invite me in, didn't give me her number. I wrote my mine on her hand... but... she hasn't called! That was it. Honest."

Standing over him, both bodies side by side, I stared hard, gauging his body language. There was honesty there, mixed with fear, and... well... resentment. But that didn't worry me.

"Maybe I over-reacted," I said shortly (Eliza)

"You think?" He replied. "I didn't even know you were _with_ her." He looked back and forth between my bodies, "uh, either of you!"

I felt a little sheepish, but was careful to keep my faces blank. "I'm not." I said in unison.

I turned to go, and looked back once (Alex). "But if you ever hurt her. I _will_ find you.... and tear you limb. from. limb." 


	13. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This event comes from Chapter 6, p.89 onwards in "The Rook" by Daniel O'Malley.

The debacle of the interrogation underground culminated in Crisp somehow managing kill the subject he was interrogating without retrieving any useful information. I was certain I'd never been so angry before. 

"What the hell was that, Crisp?” I yelled (Robert). The doctor had been brought into the observation room and was standing in front of a group of accusatory executives and the two Rooks. “You said that you could break anyone, that you could get us all the information we wanted!” 

“Rook Gestalt, you know my record is perfect,” Crisp said, staring down at the floor. His hands were clenched by his sides.  
“If your record is so goddamn perfect, then why is that thing in there dead?” I demanded. The lift doors swished open, and I strode in (Teddy). 

Everybody in the room stepped back.

“I’m not certain myself,” said Crisp nervously. “The man had incredible tolerance, but I would have expected nothing less from someone with his training. I pushed him well beyond normal boundaries, but frankly, he should have broken much sooner.” 

“And died?” I snarled (Teddy). “Was that supposed to happen much sooner, Crisp?”  
“We need answers, Crisp!” I yelled (Robert). “I need answers, and thanks to you, they will not be forthcoming!” 

“Sir, I’m sorry, I honestly can’t understand it,” Crisp replied, sweat beading on his brow. 

“No?” I asked, with the combined strength of both voices. “Perhaps I can help you understand.” 

Four hands shot out from two different bodies and linked around Crisp’s neck, lifting the doctor off the ground. “Can you understand this? ” 

“Gestalt. Stop.” Myfanwy's voice cut through the haze of rage driving me. The only voice that could have drawn my full attention in that moment. “While I have no doubt of Dr. Crisp’s talents, I think it is quite beyond him to make a body burn itself. Isn’t that right, Dr. Crisp?” 

Crisp squirmed in my grasp, attempting to nod.

Myfanwy continued. Her sweet voice was logical and calm, without a trace of the distress I would have expected to hear. “There is something at work here that we do not see. So let us be sensible and put the good doctor down.” 

Reason returned, as suddenly as it had fled. Crisp was lowered to the ground. “Does anybody have any ingenious suggestions?” I asked, looking around (Robert).

I turned on my heel and walked away to the lift (Teddy). Crisp was gasping on the floor. The remaining occupants of the room stared, unwilling to contribute their opinion.

“Well, Rook Thomas, what would you suggest?” I asked.

“There are a couple of things,” she said slowly. She opened her notebook and flipped through the pages, her brow furrowed as though she were looking for some obscure piece of information. “I’m curious about what Van Syoc shrieked at the end. Dr. Crisp, would you agree that our subject was compelled to answer you?” 

“Yes, Rook Thomas,” he answered hoarsely. “Whatever he was trying to say, he was not lying. I would have known.” 

“In that case—” she began, but she was cut off by Perry, who was looking skeptical. 

“Ahem. While I am certain that we all appreciate Myfanwy’s little suggestions, it is dangerous to place too much emphasis on this idea. After all, it is clear to anyone who has experience in operations that this man”—he gestured toward the window and the slumped body of Van Syoc—“was simply reacting to the crude pain he was feeling. I understand why it would frighten you,” he said to Myfanwy, patting her on the shoulder, “but you can rest assured, it’s all very normal in these circumstances.” 

I went very still. Watching.

The Myfanwy I knew - with two unbruised eyes - would have crumpled under the patronizing tone and heavy handed gallantry. I found myself intrigued by how she might react today, and I was not disappointed.

“Indeed,” Myfanwy answered, staring at Perry fixedly. “Thank heavens we have you here to tell us when your superiors should be listened to and when they should be ignored. I must confess, Perry, I don’t recall that particular responsibility listed as part of your office, but perhaps it is just a service you provide to the community for free.” 

I kept my face calm (Robert).  
I laughed aloud (Eliza).  
I raised four eyebrows at once (Alex and Teddy).

“In any case, have someone figure out what this man Van Syoc was attempting to say.” Myfanwy was still speaking as though completely unaware of the absolute shock of the Rookery section leaders listening to her. The elite, the most trusted and powerful of the executives had never been spoken to this way before by Rook Thomas.

She took a long sip of coffee. “Also, I should like to know why there is smoke coming out of his body. Dr. Crisp, why did you snatch your fingers away?” she asked.

“Well, ma’am, it felt as if I’d been bitten, as if something had snapped at my fingers,” he said apologetically.

“Let me see your hands, please,” Myfanwy said, and he held them out. Crisp was still wearing the latex gloves, and she turned his hands over to examine them closely. 

“Dr. Crisp, there are small burn marks on the fingertips of your gloves. Take them off, please.” He peeled them off and presented his fingers for inspection. Myfanwy reached out, and he flinched away. “Don’t be foolish, I’m not going to hurt you,” she assured him, gently taking his hands in hers. She paused.

“Fascinating. We’ll want to have both the gloves and your hands analyzed. And of course, the late Mr. Van Syoc will also need to be examined. Thoroughly.” She looked around and finally seemed to see the incredulous observers.

Instead of questioning herself, backtracking, or second guessing, as we might have expected, she snapped her fingers several times. “All right, people, now! Start thinking some thoughts, and let the Rooks know when you’ve come up with anything. Ingrid, shall we adjourn?” 

With that, she walked away to the lift.

\---

I convened in my office. 

Sometimes it was comforting to have all four of my bodies together, behind closed doors. Now, nothing was comforting. 

There was too much on my mind. I had to reduce it down to four key points.

1\. Something significant had happened to Myfanwy, something involving violence, something that had the power to dramatically change her behaviour.

2\. The Grafters, with their long and bloody history dating back to the fifteenth century, were not just a thing of the past - not only did they still exist, but apparently they were strong enough to be sending operatives back into the British Isles. 

3\. My baby was connected to me. A fifth body... but not quite. I was seeing through his eyes only in flashes. Small moments of cognition. I had yet to figure out exactly what strengthened or weakened the connection.

4\. If I betrayed Granchester, he would send my baby to Camp Caius to be experimented on by crazy scientists. He would cut my baby open and create a monster.

By the time I had Alex and Eliza physically present, I had formulated a plan and assigned one body to each key area.

Firstly I kicked all the staff out of the Control Room (Robert), and settled in to review the previous week's cctv footage from all of Grantchester's creepy hidden cameras throughout the Rookery. It was unfortunate that the spots I most needed to see to find Myfanwy were also the only places in the Rookery that Granchester had neglected to install surveillence equipment - his former office and Residence.

Secondly, I reviewed the meager information and records I had of any off-the-record assignment Granchester had given me (Alex). It bothered me that very few of the Section Heads present at Von Syoc's interrogation seemed as shaken as I was when he revealed he worked for an organization that had been dissolved - and their leaders executed - several hundred years ago. 

I knew that Grantchester admired the Grafters. Having not grown up at the Estate, he viewed them less as bogeyman and more as scientists. I had thought his interest in their history purely theoretical. They had inspired his own human experimentation and led to the "science" of Camp Caius, afterall. But the questioning of Peter Van Syoc made me wonder how many layers of Grantchester's strategising there were that I wasn't privy to.

Thirdly, I retreated to the Rookery library (Teddy), where I delved into the section that would usually only interest Myfanwy: child development and neuroscience. This was the most tedious and least rewarding of my focussed mental efforts.

The final point was the most difficult to grapple with. Was I really considering betraying Grantchester? How could I possibly outwit or outstrategise him?

This question took me back to Myfanwy.

If I had any chance of matching wits with Granchester, I needed her on my side.


	14. Ingrid

By the time all the members of the Court had assembled that evening for our emergency meeting, I had finally found a lead to follow. There was no footage of Myfanwy in the Rookery on either Saturday or Sunday. She didn't leave her office on Friday night via any of the external exits, so she must have used one of Grantchester's unmonitored secret tunnels.

I very nearly missed the only clue that I found. 

If I hadn't been scouring the footage so closely I wouldn't have noticed the odd behaviour of Myfanwy's EA Ingrid. The camera angle into Ingrid's office provided an excellent view of her as she finished work on Friday night. She had been in a hurry to finish on time and left the office promptly at 5 O'clock. All the lights were off, apart from a strip of light under the door to the Rook's office. Eventually that light went out too.

Half an hour later, Ingrid returned looking peevish. She rummaged in her desk drawer and withdrew a beautifully wrapped gift which she tucked into her bag. Then, she turned to go, but halted, like she'd been brought up short by a sudden, unexpected sound. She carefully wheeled back into the office, listening intently before opening the Rook's door warily. 

Her lips moved. The lights in the office were off, and she fumbled at the switch without entering. She peeked guiltily into the room, but it must have been empty. 

Her brow was furrowed with indecison. I could nearly see the cogs turning in her mind. Had she been certain about the sound? Was it worth bothering Rook Thomas? Should she call security or find a powered member of the Checquy to help her? The problem was that when you worked for the Checquy, you learned that conventionally sensible ideas often turned out to be unconventionally foolish. 

Something she heard in the office must have decided her and she wheeled herself inside. 

She was gone for several minutes. 

When she returned to view, her face was pale. Terrified. 

I followed every angle from her office to the car park and she didn't relax once. She looked over her shoulder often. She jumped at any sound. She sped through the hallways at an almost dangerous pace for someone in a wheelchair.

Something was very, very wrong. 

In a rather stark room the Court was gathered around a battered-looking table. Myfanwy had been making small talk with Bishop Grantchester and Chevalier Gubbins. She repeated the story that she'd told me about her injury. 

“Muggers, of all things. Two men jumped me and tried to take my purse.” 

“Good God!” Gubbins exclaimed with concern. “Are you all right?” 

“Oh, yeah,” said Myfanwy, dismissively. “You know, whoever takes one of us on is going to regret it.” 

This, more than anything else convinced me that she was deliberately lying. But why? 

Myfanwy was well known in the Checquy for her scruples, her idealism and her desperately tragic under-use of her powers. Thinking back, I could not remember a time that she had lied to another member of the Court... except, of course, about liking Grantchester's decor in the Residence.  
  
If she was lying to me, then perhaps I would need to play along with the lie rather than confront it; to find a way to turn the deception to my advantage. In order to do that I needed the truth.

As I participated in the discussions at Apex House (Teddy and Alex), two of my bodies went to pay a visit to Ingrid Woodhouse.

\--- 

“Rook Gestalt. Hello.”

There was a long expectant pause.

“Can I do anything for you?” she offered finally.

"Hmmm, I think perhaps you can,” I said (Robert). I toyed with a paperweight on the edge of her desk. "I'm seeking a truth. Something I think you know." (Eliza).

Ingrid stared at me warily. “Rook Gestalt, I'm not aware of any thing I know that might interest you.”

I finished perusing the books on her bookshelf and jumped in (Robert). “Something happened in this office on Friday night." Ingrid's face blanched. “Whatever it was..." I paused. "..it left you terrified and Myfa- er, Rook Thomas changed in unexplainable ways.” 

I could see Ingrid was doing her best to look calm and disinterested, but was actually stubbornly shutting down. 

How interesting.

There was a personal loyalty here that I hadn't noticed before. Genuine loyalty made extracting information much harder. 

"Ingrid," I said (Eliza). "I will get this information from you. I have many means of extraction that I'm comfortable to use."  
I took a step forward. "It would be less painful for you, and more palatable to me, if you would simply tell me what you know." (Robert)

“I see,” she breathed. She was working herself up to resistance. Oddly, my stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought of what I might have to resort to. 

“You see, I actually don't want to hurt you” (Eliza). I was surprised to find that it was true. “But,” I said (Robert). “I'm willing to do whatever it takes, and this information is... well.. important to me. Will you resist?”

Ingrid looked at me seriously. 

I reached out and closed the office door (Eliza). I began to walk towards her desk with both bodies. Steeling myself for violence.

“Who-else-will-you-tell?” The words came out in a nervous rush.

"What?" I said (Robert and Eliza).

“Where will this information go? If I tell you, Rook Gestalt,” Ingrid replied promptly. 

“You want to know my reasons for asking?” I asked, annoyed (Eliza). “Surely you've noticed how uncharacteristically Myfanwy's been behaving?" (Robert) "—the, uh, the shock, you know, is not enough to explain it" (Eliza). "We're facing a possible Grafter Invasion and she's taking it _well_? Why wouldn't I want to know what the fuck is going on?" (Robert)"Its" (Eliza) "_so_" (Robert) "confusing!" (Eliza)

Ingrid was watching me, her gaze flicking from one body to the other. Something like dawning comprehension was on her face as she listened to my unhinged reply.

"Ahhhh." She said finally.

“_Ah, _what?" I snapped, incredulously. 

She bit back a smile, and looked down at her desk. “Rook Gestalt, I am willing to share what I know on one condition." It was her turn to pause.

“Oh for God's sake spit it out,” I said.

She leaned back, and gave me a very direct look. "You'd better sit down."

The power had shifted between us, and I wasn't sure how that had happened. Nevertheless, I pulled up two chairs and sat down looking more like a sulky child than a terrifying interrogator.

"My condition is this: that you keep what I know for personal use only and that nothing I tell you will be used to make problems for Rook Thomas in the Checquy."

Ah.... so that was where her loyalty lay.

"Who do you think I'd tell?” I asked defensively (Eliza). “You're not the only one who cares about Rook Thomas, you know."

"Until now, Rook Gestalt, I had no idea you had any personal feelings for Rook Thomas."

"I don't!" I snapped automatically (Robert). "It's not uh, personal. I just don’t want anything... bad to happen to her... is all. It's purely, um a professional thing... my loyalty to my Rook counterpart."

There was a compassionate look on Ingrid's face, that she thankfully did not give voice to. If she had I would have surely lost my temper. Instead she began to briskly relay to me what had happened on Friday night.

"I came back to the office to pick up a present I needed to take to a party that night. I was about to go when I heard something strange. Something moving in Rook Thomas' office." She stopped.

"I gathered that much from the cctv footage. Please get to the point," I snarled at her.

Ingrid's story continued with various stops and starts. She had heard a pained whispering coming from inside the Rook's bathroom, and she immediately recognized the voice. She went in and found Rook Thomas lying on the floor, curled up with her knees to her chest, her body shuddering uncontrollably. Rook Thomas’s eyes were wide, and her lips were bloody and raw. It looked as if someone had given the young Rook’s mouth a few licks with some fine sandpaper.

"Of-course I wanted to call the medics or security, but Rook Thomas stopped me. She said things like: 'It’s all collapsing'... 'I’m breaking up'... 'My thoughts are drifting away. He licked them out of me, and now they’re fading'... it didn't make sense, but I asked who did this to her. She said this was 'how it was supposed to play out'... that she couldn't trust anyone, they might be sent to kill her." Ingrid's mouth was set in a grim line. "She said there's a traitor."


	15. Misdirection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These events take place in Chapter 13, p.162 onwards in "The Rook" by Daniel O'Malley.  
\---

After talking with Ingrid, I decided that I needed to take action, quickly. If Myfanwy had somehow been aware of the impending attack that would result in memory loss - she had managed to plan ahead. Somehow, she had stepped back into her role with knowledge of how to run the domestic operations of the Checquy.

Ingrid had been a little worried that there might be some sort of invasion of the body snatchers happening, but no Grafter plant would have done such a spectacularly obvious job of not being Rook Thomas. Especially since—let’s face it—she wasn’t that difficult to impersonate. All one would need to do is keep one’s head down and look meek.

No, it seemed like the memory loss was genuine. Perhaps she had only lost a few days or weeks of memory. But, the stark difference in her made me wonder if she had somehow lost every memory of the traumas that had made her so timid.

I didn't have time to come up with a sophisticated plan. I just needed an idea that would flip the balance between us and either get Myfanwy to reveal the truth... or trick her into believing she trusted me before she lost her memory. I wished she _had_ trusted me. Though, considering the things that I was hiding from her... it showed great intelligence that she thought I could be a traitor. 

I waited in her office, well before the early hour she usually arrived at work, using the only body that she had yet to meet this week - Eliza.

There was a nervous energy in my bodies. I needed to see the interaction I was about to stage, as a normal piece of play-acting that I would do in any undercover situation. I was good at playing a role.

I had left the door slightly ajar, so I heard her arrival and my heartbeat sped up. I leaned back in her chair, grabbed the nearest report to flick through, and threw my feet up on the desk. My posture, at least, was relaxed.

"Morning, Ingrid. Has anything frightfully bizarre happened?” her voice drifted through.

“No more so than usual, Rook Thomas,” replied her secretary. "Here are the latest reports from around the Isles. Your morning will probably be entirely taken up with this meeting of the Rooks and the Chevs. I’ve rescheduled the other appointments. Your afternoon is going to consist primarily of seeing those people who expected to see you in the morning.” 

“Thanks. How long until the meeting? Oh, and are we holding it here?” Myfanwy asked.

“Yes, it’s here. In half an hour, but Rook Gestalt is waiting in your office.” 

"Ah... excellent," she said, in a tone that implied she felt the opposite. Myfanwy wandered into her office carrying a cup of coffee and a large folder. She looked across at me and her mouth actually dropped open.

"Hi Myf!" I said brightly.

Myfanwy continued to gape at me for several seconds. I dropped my feet back onto the ground and let an expression of uncertainty drift onto my face, replacing the brilliant smile I'd blinded her with when she walked in.

"Uh, ...hi Eliza... sorry... I'm just... still waking up I guess."

I jumped to my feet. "You're normally such a morning person, did you sleep okay?" 

"Hmm? Um - yeah... not great... you know after that meeting last night I had the worst headache you know."

I moved toward her, limbs loose and flowing. I gently took the coffee and folder from her hands and placed them on the desk. 

Careful. This bit has to come out right. The perfect blend of truth and misdirection.

I stared into her eyes, noticing the tiny flecks of aqua and gold in the deep blue. "I'm not sure exactly what I'm doing," I confessed. "I mean, I've never had a girlfriend before, and you know..." I shrugged, self deprecating, "I'm not the best with relationships anyway."

Her eyes were wide with shock; her lips parted in surprise.

"Last night, I wanted to take you home... to look after you... I've never felt that for anyone else... and..."  
  
"And?" she prompted.

"And, I didn't know if I could. I mean, we said we'd take this slow. But, I want you to know I meant every word I said... the other night. It wasn't just the Christmas punch talking," I smiled again; the smile that had mesmerized many an unfortunate target.

Her face went blank; her brow furrowed. She shook her head, as if to clear it.

Before she could formulate a response, there was a knock at the door. "Rook Thomas, Dr Crisp is here to see you."  
  
Pure relief crossed Myfanwy's face. She cleared her throat. "Okay! Just a sec," she called out. Looking up at me, she spoke quietly. "Let's talk more tonight. We can get pizza... and watch some reality tv... you know, normal stuff... okay?"

Then she turned away and eagerly opened the door. "Dr. Crisp! Come in! Great to see you!"

Thankfully my other bodies were alone and I was able to laugh out loud at her enthusiasm at being interrupted. I bit back a smile (Eliza). 

Dr. Crisp was ushered into the room and seated in one of the uncomfortable chairs in front of Myfanwy's desk. She settled into the chair I had vacated and I remained standing. Dr. Crisp glanced warily at me. “Rook Gestalt, Rook Thomas, I’m going to have to retract my apology,” he said firmly. 

“Huh?” Myfanwy replied. Taken by surprise for a second time that morning. 

Crisp was so focused on what he had to say that she could have had a seizure and he probably wouldn’t have noticed. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry for retracting your apology?” she asked bemusedly. 

“I didn’t kill Van Syoc,” said Crisp.

\--- 

By the time I was standing on Myfanwy's front step, at 8:30pm, I still hadn't come up with the next steps of my plan.

All four of my bodies had been busy with the Grafter Investigation. Such as it was. Grantchester wasn't admitting his involvement to me, however he had basically told me not to investigate. He gave me all sorts of secondary tasks to concentrate on that would effectively prevent me from doing any actual information gathering. The Bishop had also carefully designed the Investigation process so that all information we did gather would flow up through to him. He would always stay two steps ahead.

I shifted the pizza boxes in my hands and rang the doorbell self consciously. I was as nervous as if this were a _real_ date. Thankfully, Myfanwy didn't leave me waiting long. She opened the door looking expectant... and then surprised.

"Hi, Gestalt." She looked at me, and past me, before saying slowly. "I thought, well, all of you might be coming." 

"Just one," I smiled (Eliza), "I feel like you're more comfortable with this body."

"Oh, well, come in." She I tried to seem casual. 

"How was the meeting with the Bishops?" I wondered aloud. 

"As expected," she replied, leading me through a tastefully decorated hallway into a comfortable lounge room. I'd never been inside her house before and I was delighted to see that it revealed much more of her personality than the blandness of her office and her professional wardrobe. 

The television was on already, blaring some kind of disgustingly superficial storyline that repelled and fascinated its audience simultaneously. 

"Do you want a coke?" 

"Sure." 

"Go ahead and sit with Wolfgang," she suggested. 

I turned my attention to the white rabbit sitting on the couch. "Uh, hi Wolfgang." I said, ridiculously. "Is this the rabbit the pre-curser to the prophetic duck??" 

Myfanwy was startled into a laugh. "Yeah... but he can't tell the future." 

I shook my head, rolling my eyes. "What a debacle that duck thing was. I can't believe Wattleman brought that weirdo, and watched him slaughter the duck."

She laughed at that, her eyes warm. "Yeah, that was a bizarre twist in the story."

Hmmm... this incident had happened a month ago. I couldn't tell if she remembered it, or just knew about it.

"Yes," I agreed. "The bizarre is what keeps us in business, I guess."

Myfanwy ducked into the kitchen and returned with two soft drinks in tall frosted glasses. "How did you go?" She asked, sinking onto the couch beside me and scooping the rabbit onto her lap.

I hurriedly took a bite of pizza, shrugging. "I'm not getting far." 

She looked at me curiously. "Hmmm... I wrote up that report on the Grafters from our meeting with the Chevs today." 

I realized I was leaning toward her. Her eyes locked with mine. The air felt thick between us. Suddenly, neither of us was thinking about work. 

"What I don't get," she whispered, "is... am I in a relationship with just one of your bodies? How can that be? You are just one person regardless of which body you're wearing."

God, she was brave. Getting straight to the point of my visit. She had always seemed to understand my strangeness better than anyone else.

I took a sip of my drink, stalling.

"You're right," I opted for honesty. She seemed to have a pretty advanced bullshit detector despite the memory wipe. "All of my bodies share the same feelings for you. My feelings. They don't change... it's just... well... you've only ever kissed me when I've been wearing Eliza or Alex... and never when two of my bodies were present." I flipped the question back on her. "Why do you think that is?"

She sat back. Thinking hard, but aiming to look casual. "I'm not sure if I'm prepared for this conversation," she murmered, mostly to herself.

"That makes two of us," I smiled wryly.

She seemed to be wavering, torn by disquieting dilemmas. I guessed she was deciding whether or not to tell me the truth.

"I'm not sure I can trust you, actually," she said, with astonishing candour. I reached forward, without thinking, to touch her hand where it rested on Wolfgang's fur. 

"I'm not the easiest person to trust." My voice was almost as quiet as hers had been. "I hope though, that you'll try." I didn't even try to tone down the intensity of the truth in that statement. 

"I..." She shook her head. "I don't know... but, I suppose we don't need complete trust to... explore... this." 

She turned her hand under mine, palm to palm, small fingers lacing through my long, calloused ones. I sat frozen. All of my bodies as still as statues in the middle of what they were doing.

Browning some butter (Alex).  
Chopping spring onions (Robert).   
Pouring a drink (Teddy).  
Holding hands with Myfanwy.

Of all the reactions I had been expecting from her, calm acceptance of a fledging relationship with Gestalt, was not one. 

In fact, it was terrifying.  
I had no idea what to do.


	16. Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This assumes a knowledge of chapter 15 & 16 in the Rook by Daniel O'Malley but mostly focuses on an event from Chapter 17 p.204 onwards...
> 
> \---

"You've invited her to your house?!" I was raving. "What the fuck are you thinking Myfanwy?"  
  
I wasn't sure what was making me feel more incensed; Myfanwy's irresponsible acceptance of this 'Bronwyn Thomas' story, _or _ how cozy she and the American Bishop were, ensconced in the plush leather couch, having cancelled all of the afternoon's appointments.  
  
"It's Myfanwy's call, Rook Gestalt," Bishop Shantay said frostily, standing up, "we've done a thorough vetting of this person."  
  
I stared at her, flabbergasted (Eliza). It didn't help that she was a head taller than this body (how was that even possible?) and stunningly beautiful. When Myfanwy had introduced us, two minutes earlier, there had already been a relaxed camaraderie between them. How had someone she met _ this _ morning, gained her trust so quickly! The unfairness of it all made me livid.  
  
"Fine!" I snapped. "I will trust your judgement, Myf," I gritted out between clenched teeth, "but you are not meeting this potential fucking assasin alone."  
  
I stomped to the door in my combat boots, just managing to refrain from kicking it open. "I'll be at your house at five. I'll be sending Teddy."  
  
I slammed the door behind me.  
  
\---  
Myfanwy sat on one end of her couch, her bare feet propped up on a footstool, her head leaning back. A brimming glass of brandy was in her hand but she had yet to take even one sip. “You know you don't have to stand around threateningly, Gestalt,” she said in a resigned tone. “You'll be intimidating even if you take your shoes off and sit down."  
  
The housekeeper had insisted on preparing a huge tray of food, and she carried it in, clicking her tongue. “Normally, I don’t encourage drinking,” she said. “But I’ve never seen you this nervous. It’s been how long since you and your sister saw each other?”  
  
"Years,” said Myfanwy, with perfect accuracy.  
  
“Years! That’s absolutely dreadful! That’s typical with you career girls. You get the job, and just forget entirely about everything else. Do you know that this is the first time I’ve heard you talk about your family?”  
  
She looked across at me a little nervously... "and the first time you've brought a work friend home too! Are you sure you don't want something to drink, er, Teddy?"  
  
I shook my head just as the doorbell rang. “Oh, there she is now! I’ll let your sister in, and then I’ll head home.” She gave Myfanwy an encouraging pat on the shoulder and bustled off to the front of the house. I paced in front of the window behind the couch, body strung tight and alert, watching the door.  
  
A young woman entered the room. “Muvvahnwee?” she said shyly. There was a strong resemblance between the two women, though the younger one was much taller with a longer torso, and straight, fashionably highlighted blond hair that hung to the middle of her back.  
  
Myfanwy startled, and smiled up at her. “Hey! Bronwyn! Come in. I’d get up, but I have Wolfgang here, and he doesn’t like to be jostled,” she explained, gesturing helplessly toward the rabbit, who seemed quite comfortable.  
  
The young woman's face lit up, and she came over to stroke the bunny. “He’s darling!” said Bronwyn. “How long have you had him?”  
  
“Oh, gosh, I don’t know,” said Myfanwy truthfully.  
  
"Six months." I cut in. "He was brought into work by some moron and Myf decided to rescue him from a lab of scientists."  
  
Bronwyn looked up at me and froze. "Ummm... Muvvahnwee... is that your bodyguard?" She whispered.  
  
Myfanwy snorted. "No, although I know he dresses like one." She patted the couch beside her. "Relax. He won't calm down until you do." She glanced back at me and there was a teasing glint in her eye as she added sotto voce. "He gets too used to dealing with hostile people in our line of work and he's very suspcious of your murderous intent."  
  
Bronwyn gingerly sat down beside, Myfanwy. “So,” she said nervously.  
  
“So.” Myfanwy smiled at her. “I don’t know about you, but when I woke up this morning, this wasn’t at all what I expected to happen. How on earth did you manage to find me?”  
  
“It wasn’t easy,” said Bronwyn. “I was in a café in the city, looking at stuff on the Web, and you know how you look yourself up? I did that, and then, out of curiosity, I typed your name in to see what would happen.”  
  
My finger was still on the trigger of the gun held behind my back. If Bronwyn was a Grafter she wouldn't wait long to make her move.  
  
“I got absolutely no results, other than some chick in New Zealand who knits and felts woolen pears and sells them on the Internet. But it made me curious about you, so I looked around. I looked for a death certificate—they’re public-domain documents, you know—but I couldn’t find one anywhere.”  
  
“I did not know that,” said Myfanwy. I could see her mentally adding this to the list of items to check on for students at the Estate. 

“Oh, yes. So I knew you were alive, and I have a friend who works in the tax office. He didn’t want to, but he tracked down a Muvvahnwee Alice Thomas who lives here. You’re the only Muvvahnwee Alice Thomas in the UK.”  
  
“That’s really impressive,” said Myfanwy.  
  
“I’ve always been a pretty good researcher,” said Bronwyn modestly. “I still wasn’t sure that it was you. I came to this address, and I was trying to get the nerve up to go and buzz at the gate. But then I saw you and you looked so much like my mum. So I followed you to that building in the city. I went in the front, but your name wasn’t in the building directory."  
  
"For good reason," I interjected.  
  
Myfanwy patted the young woman's hand, encouraging her to continue. I watched an intent look cross Myf's face as she kept her hand on Bronwyn's.  
  
“I know it was kind of stalkerish,” continued Bronwyn, “but I hung around the building. I thought that if you didn’t come out the front, then I could just come back here and try buzzing at the gate. And then you were there, right across the street.”  
  
"Well," Myfanwy said abruptly. "I've done my own research." She flashed me a meaningful look. "So I know that you are definitely my sister, and Teddy can stop creeping around like you're about to pull out a gun."  
  
Bronwyn gave a squeak at the word gun. It started as a surprised laugh, thinking Myfanwy was joking, but then looking up at me she must have reconsidered. She shook her head in amazement. "That's not normal hey, what _ is_ it you do?”  
  
“I work for the government,” explained Myfanwy. “I’m a specialist on domestic affairs. I do a lot of supervisory stuff. Long hours..."  
  
I surreptitiously slid my gun back into its hidden holster and began walking towards the armchair across from the two women. Myfanwy still hadn't touched her brandy, and I needed a drink. I lifted it out of her hand as I went past. I took a sip as she glared at me. "...and this heavy handed cretin is my boyfriend, Teddy."  
  
I raised the drink in a wry salute as Bronwyn's wide eyed gaze landed on me. The corner of Myf's mouth quirked upward, mischevious. It wasn't an expression I was used to seeing on her face.  
  
"Actually, we're polyamorous; I'm also in a relationship with Teddy's sister Eliza."  
  
I choked on the brandy. Myfanwy cast me a triumphant smile. "If you didn't want me telling Bronwyn _everything_ on her first visit, you shouldn't have insisted on chaperoning!"  
  
Bronwyn was still trying to figure out if Myf was serious or joking. "Uh.. wow! That's really interesting. Like, I have a friend who's poly, but it doesn't seem to be going well. Dating siblings must be complex."  
  
Myf laughed aloud, "oh yes, you have _no _ idea." She murmered in an undertone before redirecting the conversation. “Bronwyn, you’re twenty-five, right?”  
  
“Yeah, I was only three, when you… went away. So I really didn’t remember you at all,” she added guiltily.  
  
There was an awkward pause, and then Bronwyn settled for the easiest opening gambit. “I like your house a lot. How long have you and Teddy lived here?”  
  
“Oh… a couple of years,” said Myfanwy vaguely. “We both got a big promotion and bought this place. And then we spent ages decorating it.”  
  
“It’s lovely... Okay, so I have to ask,” said Bronwyn. “What happened? Jonathan told me that we had a sister, and there were some photos of you, but Mum and Dad never talked about you. For ages, I thought you’d died or something.”  
  
As Myfanwy hesitantly navigated an awkward conversation of mostly untruths, I decided I could relax my guard. The glass of brandy was going to my head already. I rarely drank alcohol. It was an odd feeling, one body - relaxed and buzzing - the others feeling stone cold sober. I stood up and wandered into the kitchen,  
I slipped off my socks and shoes, suit coat and gun holster. Laying them on the bench I rolled up my shirtsleeves, padded to the fridge and had a look inside. A bottle of expensive white wine caught my eye. Hmmm... while I was already pleasantly inebriated...  
  
I took it out, rummaged in the cupboards and found three glasses.  
  
By the time I returned to the lounge room, both women were weeping and hugging one another. I paused in the doorway. "Wine?"  
  
"Yes please,” said Myfanwy as they calmed down and wiped their faces. She looked up at me and a strange expression crossed her face. I couldn't interpret it. I suddenly felt vulnerable, exposed, standing there in my shirt sleeves and bare feet. Though Myfanwy might not be aware of this - I had never been so casual with her before.  
  
The moment passed and she began asking questions about Bronwyn and her family. I poured the wine and quietly sat back down listening.  
  
There was very little that I didn't already know from reviewing the files in the hour before work finished. Parents:dead. Brother: Jonathan. A thirty-three year old banker, currently in Japan on a business trip. Bronwyn: scraped through school, worked a bunch of casual jobs, now studying Fashion.  
  
Surprisingly Myfanwy seemed thrilled by this uninspiring recount. “Oh, fantastic! Maybe you can educate me,” said Myfanwy. “I’m completely ignorant about all aspects of fashion.”  
  
“What? Look at the suit you’re wearing!”  
  
Myfanwy looked at herself. “Yeah?”  
I looked too. It was basically the same as all her other suits; neutral, unassuming but expensive. She was beautiful, but the suit drew no attention to that beauty.  
  
“Well, it’s really good quality,” said Bronwyn, fingering the cloth appreciatively. “And it costs more than I make in three months of work as a waitress.”  
  
“Yeah, well, my general approach is that if I pay a horrendous amount of money for a garment, people will overlook the fact that it looks terrible on me,” said Myfanwy. Her gaze flicked my direction. "Even Eliza has no time to spend helping me and she always looks great."  
  
"I'd like to meet her," Bronwyn said shyly.  
  
"Well, she is slightly less scary than Teddy. Though never better groomed." Myfanwy giggled. The glass of wine was having an effect on her too. "In fact, Eliza will be home soon."  
  
Oh will she?  
  
"She usually works late, but if you're happy to sleep over you'll get to meet her too," she continued. Safely stitching me up whilst getting her sister to stay the night against my recommendations.  
  
Oh my god, what was I getting myself into?


	17. The Sleepover

All these angles and you had to be obtuse  
But none of these problems are acute  
And this is not cute  
~ Allday

\--- 

Bronwyn liked me much better as Eliza. It helped that I had slipped out of my work clothes and put on an outfit from a recent undercover job that I knew was the height of casual fashion. I noticed her eyes widen when I came in and the appreciative gaze that ran over my clothes. Not a look that wondered about what was underneath the clothes. Bronwyn seemed as straight as they come.

Myfanwy meanwhile was reacting quite differently to the way my torn jeans hugged my legs and my shirt gaped just the right amount to give glimpses of my curves. I greeted Bronwyn enthusiastically, in my most gentle tone, then perched on the arm of the couch angled towards them. My arms on my knees, occasionally touching Myf when I shifted.

As I made polite conversation with Bronwyn I was hyperaware of Myfanwy's reactions to me. It helped that I could read the unconscious disclosures that were visible from a distance by watching her with Teddy's eyes. 

“So, how did you guys meet?” Bronwyn asked, looking curiously between the three of us.

“Oh,” Myfanwy said. “Through work." She leaned into me almost imperceptibly, fidgeting.

"That can't be the whole story!"

“I think the thing is that, there are so many sides to this story, that we don't know which one to tell,” Myfanwy suggested. 

“We don't have a couple story down pat, to tell at cocktail parties yet,” I said (Eliza). 

Bronwywn sighed. “Well, you need one. Those 'how we met stories' are so romantic." Her face brightened suddenly. "Why don't you tell me the long version, and I can help you come up with the cute short version.”

I growled (Teddy), “Why don’t we call it a night. We have to work tomorrow." 

“Eliza?” asked Bronwyn, a hopeful look on her face.

In a compassionate voice, I replied, “I've got nothing right now.” After a moment of consideration, I added, however, “hmmm... it might not be when we met, but, the first time I knew she would change my life, was at a graduation..."

I didn't dare look at Myfanwy through Eliza's eyes, because Myf was staring dumbfounded at Eliza. Even observing her with Teddy's eyes was beginning to feel uncomfortable. A nervous flutter in several of my stomachs. The puzzling mystery of what she was thinking. The secrets behind that clear gaze.

"I saw her in a room full of people... and from then on... I just... couldn't _see_ anyone else." My mouth seemed to be moving of its own accord. "But you know what, when she looked at _me_ the only expressions I saw were fear... distaste... maybe even loathing. It was a long time before that changed. A long time before she looked at me in a different way."

Bronwyn had clasped her hands together and cooed with delight, "Oohhhh that is SO romantic!"

I found myself laughing out loud, shaking my head and standing (Teddy). "I think we have all had too much to drink on a week night." I said, firmly.

By the time Myfanwy had shown Bronwyn to the guest bedroom, I had packed away the excessive amount of food we had not eaten, washed our glasses, recycled the wine bottle and gathered up my belongings.

Myfanwy came back downstairs to find me heading for the door.

"What are you doing?"  
"Um..." I said, cautiously (Teddy).  
"Going home?" (Eliza)

Myfanwy grabbed an arm from each body and practically dragged me back into the living room. "Obviously, you can't do that!" She said in a furious whisper.

I stared at her.  
She threw her hands up in exasperation. "I just said you lived here! You have to wake up here, have breakfast here, leave for work together! Oh my god, Gestalt! Help me out here! I'm trying to look as --normal as possible, for my sister!"

My lips twitched at the inflection. She glared at me, then stomped away to the end of the couch where she had been sitting and retrieved a gun that had been hidden under a cushion.

"Aha!" I grinned, "you weren't as sure as you were pretending!" (Teddy)

She flushed, and opted for honesty. "No. It wasn't until I touched her hand... that was... like being doused with gasoline and lit up... but not in a bad way. I could sense the genetic ties I hold with her, my own patterns mirrored, to a certain extent, within my sister! The only surgery that girl has ever had was getting her wisdom teeth out!"

I felt a strange glow at the way Myf was confiding in me. "So, no grafter implants?" (Eliza)

"None at all. She is totally normal."

"Well, then," I said slowly (Teddy), "we can rest easy tonight..."

"...since I'm pretty sure you have no idea how to use that..." I nodded toward the gun that she had been waving around while she talked, "it's a good thing she doesn't have any inbuilt weaponry." I tamped down a smile (Eliza).

Myfanwy glared at me, then deflated, even laughing a little, "I was hoping muscle memory might click in... but... yeah..."

I opened my mouth to follow that train of thought towards the unspoken truth of her memory loss, but she had turned away to lock the gun in a desk drawer. As she led me up to her bedroom, any thought of talking fled.

She busied herself flicking on the bedside lamps and rummaging in her drawers for some overlarge teeshirts that she must use for sleeping in, and a silky dressing gown for Eliza. 

My mouth was dry. I tried to look anywhere but at the bed. Oh my fucking god. How was I going to sleep for even a second lying next to Myfanwy Thomas.

Somehow we made it through the intimate stages of preparing for bed. Being ridiculously organised, of course, she had spare unopened toothbrushes stocked up and everything I could need in her bathroom. 

If I had felt exposed earlier it was nothing to what I felt coming out of her ensuite, freshly showered, with bare legs. She had already jumped into the middle of the King size bed. The covers pulled up under her chin. I flicked off the lamps on either side of the bed as I climbed in. Eliza on the left. Teddy on the right. My pulse was beating so loud in both throats, I was almost sure she could hear it, even though no parts of our bodies were touching.

"Hey Gestalt?"  
Her soft voice in the darkness made me want to groan with desire, instead I bit down on that primal sound and managed an "mmmm?"  
"Thanks for looking out for me today. I mean, I might not have welcomed it initially, but having you here really helped me with my nerves about meeting Bronwyn."  
Her hands shifted under the sheets and collided with one of mine on either side. 

"Ah," I swallowed, hoping the words would come out sounding normal, "I'm glad I could be here. You..." (Teddy)  
"...are very brave. But I don't want you to have to be brave on your own." (Eliza)  
Cool slender fingers tangled with mine.  
"I know we're taking things slow..." she whispered, "...and trust me, that's exactly what I need at the moment... but... could you... maybe... kiss me goodnight."

Holy fuck, you're killing me Myfanwy!

Releasing her hand, I propped myself up on one elbow (Teddy). Drawing her to me with our linked hands I pressed my lips to hers (Eliza).

My memory of the kiss in the car had replayed so many times, but with none of the clarity of reality. This kiss was so much more. My whole body ached to rolling her over and push my body into hers, parting her lips and deepening the kiss. It took an effort to draw back (Eliza). I released her hand.

She turned toward me (Teddy). I could barely make out her features in the darkness but there was an expectancy in the air between us. I leaned in and caught her mouth with mine. I couldn't hold back the groan that escaped against her lips as we kissed. There was contained passion in this caress. The desire to know more, feel more, explore more.

Breathing hard I pulled back.  
"Good night, Gestalt."

Emotional exhaustion drew Myfanwy quickly into oblivion. I lay beside her, constantly aware of every time that shifted or sighed in her sleep.

I turned my mind to the most sleep inducing subject I could think of. Neurology.

In the time since the Christmas Party, I had come to the conclusion that my baby - or my fifth body - could function autonomously when he was primarily accessing:

1) the brain stem: breathing, swallowing, heart rate, blood pressure, consciousness, whether awake or sleepy.  
2) the cerebellum: movement, balance, a sense of self in space.  
3) the limbic system: emotions, motivations, learning.

In this third area, if he felt particularly strong emotions of some kind I would feel the connection like a distant touch.

But it was the fourth area that was the key to whether he was an autonomous person or an extension of me - a fifth body. When infants are six to 12 months of age, frontal lobe growth occurs in spurts as a child learns to walk and talk. Important information is retained during this time and non-essential neurological data gets pruned away during certain critical development points.

Complete frontal cortex development takes many years, and new functions are added well beyond the childhood years. Development is a complex process involving changes in white matter and the establishment of neural connections in the brain, both of which are influenced by genetic and environmental factors.

The frontal cortex is the final area in the brain to fully mature and is the part of the brain responsible for higher order functions, such as conscious thought, voluntary actions, emotion, and some elements of motor control. In a normal person, as this area undergoes rapid growth during infancy, children explore their environments and begin to develop speech, motor skills, and a sense of themselves as separate human beings. 

What seemed to be happening for my baby was that he was _not_ a separate human being. He was me. I was him. 

I had never been normal, but I had made sense of how my four adult bodies were connected. Having an infant body was a completely bizarre experience. I could rarely control that body's actions or reactions. Sometimes I couldn't even sense my fifth body at all. But the more cortical development occurred in the frontal lobe, the more I was able to feel that small, fragile, body as part of my larger ones.

Plus, the more that I connected in with the sensations and emotions of that tiny body, looking through his eyes, listening through his ears, the more neurons seemed to fire in that new frontal lobe, accelerating his brain develop in ways that were not normal in infancy.

I felt grief. I had wanted my baby to have a normal life. I had wanted to mother my baby, from the outside, not from within. I was still grappling with the loss of what I had thought was a new separate human being for me to love. I was lonely again, for the child my baby would never be.

But I was coming to terms with it.

\---

After a breakfast of waffles with Myfanwy and Bronwyn, under the shocked gaze of the housekeeper (who was much too professional to comment on the fact that I was wearing Myfanwy's dressing gown and teeshirt), we took the car past my place on the way to the Rookery. I ran up the stairs to my apartment to pick up fresh clothes. I was thinking hard. Perhaps the time had come to reveal Grantchester's duplicity to Myfanwy. Maybe she really would believe me, and work with me. Maybe there was hope.

Just then, I dropped my breakfast bowl all over white tiles (Junior).  
I stopped in the middle of changing my suit (Teddy).  
I yanked the brush through my hair, head cocked to the side as though listening (Eliza). 

"What the fuck?" Grantchester had jumped up from the dining table, next to my high chair, his pristine suit splattered with the detritus of my porridge. 

"Don't swear in front of the baby." Caroline frowned, motioning for the nanny to clear away the mess and comfort me. I was starting to wail. 

A tall teenage boy, made up exclusively of elbows and Adam’s apple, came to the door. The gangly youth was covered in flesh-colored scales that glittered in the light. I stopped wailing and clapped my hands at the sight of his movements in the light from the window. Older parts of my brains, noted the long scars sliced up his face from the corners of his mouth. 

Caroline glanced up but didn't react, apart from sighing, "Really Conrad? Business at breakfast?" She stood up huffing, and clicked away on heels much too tall for that hour of the morning. 

"What is it, Norman?" Grantchester asked.  
"I followed them, my Lord. It was as you expected. Two of the bodies stayed the night at Rook Thomas' residence. Teddy and Eliza. They did not leave again until this morning." 

"Thank-you, Norman." Grantchester turned to me. His body was so much bigger from the view of these eyes. "Perhaps..." he turned back to his scaly youth, "... perhaps I will need to send the baby to Camp Caius after all. Gestalt seems distracted, and in need of a reminder to prioritise the tasks I've given." 

I started screaming (Junior)  
The connection to my fifth body faded as I sank back into lower brain functions.


	18. Uprising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These events come from Chapter 23 and 24 of "The Rook" by Daniel O'Malley
> 
> \---

And then when everything is over  
I hope to think of this as better times  
The sky got red and swollen  
I guess I never see the signs  
There can't be songs for every soldier  
It can't be solace every time you cry

~ DERMOT KENNEDY 

\---

I was unsurprised to be called in to Granchester's office at Apex House only minutes after reaching the Rookery. Checking my schedule I saw that there were leads to be followed for the Grafter Investigation in York and Ireland. I sent Eliza and Robert respectively, leaving me with the twins to grit their teeth and attend the impromptu meeting.

Grantchester was settled behind his massive desk, regarding me with level eyes, as I entered. Everything about the office bespoke opulence intended to awe or intimidate. The walls were covered with warm wood paneling and large portraits. A well maintained fire crackled in the fireplace. Heavy drapes framed a huge window. 

"Good morning, Gestalt." Grantchester greeted me, his hands forming a pyramid on his desk. "Please, take a seat."

He gestured to the two straight backed chairs placed across from him. I would have preferred to stand, but I did as requested.

"Bishop Grantchester," I nodded at him.

He smiled a little. "No small talk, eh? You never send Eliza to see me any more. It makes me wonder if things are okay between us?" 

"Things are unchanged on my side, Sir." I said.

Grantchester looked across at me piercingly. “Are they?" He said slowly, "I feel that I need to clarify a few things. What I expect from you, is complete loyalty."

I kept my face impassive.

"As it turns out," Granchester said, tightly, "you have been spending your personal time with Rook Thomas, who is causing me something of a headache."

"I was unaware that you disapproved of Rook Thomas," I said.

"Hmm... perhaps you were unaware. But I do believe you need to reassess your loyalties and motivations. You see, it is possible that any day now Rook Thomas could uncover incriminating evidence of treachery within the Checquy. My expectation-" he paused, "-is that out of loyalty to me, you will take the fall if necessary. Do you understand me?"

"Surely my spending time with Rook Thomas is more likely to work in your favour? If she cannot be trusted, wouldn't it be best to keep her close..."

"Leave the strategising to me," Granchester snapped. "It doesn't suit you."

"Of course. I apologise. She means nothing to me, in any case," I lied smoothly. "I've simply been amusing myself."

Grantchester leaned back in his chair. "Well, amuse yourself elsewhere. I'm willing to accept that you may not have been deliberately working against me. However, your actions can not be totally without consequence."

I tensed.

"My son... Grantchester Junior... is going on a little outing to Wales this week. Nothing to worry about. I have simply asked that the scientists at Camp Caius run a battery of preliminary tests on him. Nothing too intrusive. Just the initial checkups and catalaloging of information that they would usually do for an infant prior to coming up with an experimentation plan."

I took deep calming breaths (Teddy).  
“I see,” I said (Alex).

“Yes, the information may not prove necessary,” said Grantchester. “After all there are plenty of other infants that can be chosen for dissection or grafting. As long as you continue to operate in line with my directions and wishes, I see no reason to choose my own son for such a purpose."

“Now, Rook Gestalt I would like you to go to the north of Scotland today,” Grantchester continued briskly. “The project you were overseeing in Bath seems to be under control--"

I let Grantchester's voice wash over me, paying attention using only one set of ears. I felt numb. Nothing. I couldn't afford to feel, or think. He explained that there were people amongst the Retainers at Apex House who were ready to take action if things came to a head within the Court. The code word to activate them all was 'uprising' but should only be used if necessary to deflect attention from Granchester himself.

He continued to talk at me for some time before handing me a folder of information and sending me on my way.

As I exited his office my EA caught up with me, booking flights for the day and rearranging my schedule according to the new instructions. "And don't forget the entire Court will be meeting with the Croatoan representatives this evening.”  
  
“Dinner?” I asked.  
“Yes, indeed,” she confirmed. “The Apex House chefs are already working. All four of your bodies will need to be present, let me know how you want to dress and I will distribute the outfits to your bodies."  
“Excellent. Let's get on with it then." I said grimly.

\---

After an exhausting day of fieldwork, the last thing I wanted to do was dress in formal clothes and attend the dinner at Apex House. 

I was also dreading seeing Myfanwy. I would need to treat her with a coldness that I didn't feel, in stark contrast to the intimacy of the night before.

Thankfully (or not) I didn't have to sit with the simmering dread for long.

As soon as my car drew up I saw her. Dusk was just departing and Myfanwy was entering the building with her EA and a hulking mass of a bodyguard. She was wearing a crimson dress, the likes of which I had never seen before.

With Myfanwy framed in the doorway, Apex House suddenly looked like a fairy-tale palace, the spotlights painting its front pillars vivid colors as the night closed in. I followed them in, unnoticed, close enough to hear the conversation. 

“I’m so glad you got that dress, Rook Thomas. It’s a real departure for you, but it suits you. You look like Cinderella."

“You think? Maybe, if she’d been into bondage and had Christian Dior for a godmother.” 

“It will certainly turn some heads.” 

“Oh… goody... I’m just grateful there’s no metal or leather in this thing,” said Myfanwy. 

“Now, do you have everything you need?” 

“Except for Kevlar and a gun,” said Myfanwy, lightly. There was a pause. "Just kidding, Ingrid. I'm fine."

I followed them through the hallways, and everywhere Pawns and Retainers stepped aside, bowing slightly. Was it my imagination or were the male employees taking the opportunity to get a look at the top half of Myfanwy's dress? Everything was covered that was supposed to be covered, but only just. The dress held her tightly and swirled around her, Myfanwy was always stunningly beautiful, but she rarely ever wore something designed to draw attention to that fact. I felt like everyone we passed was experiencing for the first time the way that felt when I saw her every day. 

We entered the reception room, and the Bishops and the Chevaliers were already there, with their Retainers, all looking suitably classy and powerful. The Lord and Lady arrived, he resplendent in military uniform and sporting so many medals that they practically constituted body armor, she dressed in a classic evening gown. 

Everyone chatted politely, and the Retainers shifted carefully, wary of bumping into anybody who might accidentally destroy them. The ballroom was glittering with chandeliers, beautifully sculpted columns, and large arrangements of flowers. 

I moved around the room, all four bodies walking liquidly in step. Tonight I had decided to take advantage of my bodies’ striking similarity and had dressed identically in a livery of dark blue. 

I had worried about how Myfanwy would react to being treated with coldness. What I should have worried about, perhaps, was whether she would react to me at all. When she glanced at me for the first time that evening, our eyes met cooly. It was as though we had never shared a bed, never shared a kiss, never shared our thoughts.

I had no time to analyse this, because, the Croatoan envoys were announced. Bishop Morales entered first, a little old woman, flanked by two men, both of whom appeared to be bodybuilders. 

Myfanwy was called upon to present the Bishop to the heads of the organization. Farrier and Wattleman greeted her formally. Then Bishop Petoskey entered, and the retainers took a collective breath at her beauty. I watched with displeasure as Myfanwy bestowed a friendly smile on the American. She did not seem to be feeling any of the coolness she had demonstrated towards me. 

Pleasantries were exchanged, and waiters wove through the crowd. Somehow, one of my bodies (Robert) was drawn into conversation with Gubbins, Wattleman, Myfanwy and the American Bishop, who I was beginning to completely loathe and despise for no apparent reason. 

The chitchat was painfully polite, with all the participants avoiding any mention of the Grafters and instead making cocktail chatter that everyone could coast their way through. Discussion of the Grafter threat would occur the next day, with a formal agenda and minutes taken. 

And so I spent most of the time prickling at any casual touch between Petoskey and Myfanwy, and catching wary or accusing glances that the latter sent my way. I had just decided I would have to find a quiet way to speak to her privately when Gubbins suddenly started chirping about the day’s activities. “So, Bishop Petoskey, I understand you had quite the adventure today, accompanying Rook Thomas out to one of our manifestation sites.” 

The two women exhanged a hurried look that was loaded with meaning. 

“Of course, it was all perfectly legal, Sir Henry,” Gubbins assured the Lord. “Under the terms of the Sororitas Pact, our American cousins are allowed to attend manifestations.” 

“Indeed,” said Wattleman, not looking particularly pleased at the information. “And whereabouts did you go, Bishop Petoskey?” 

“Oh,” fumbled Petoskey, “Well, it was, um…”  
“Bath, wasn’t it?” prompted Gubbins helpfully.  
“What?” I said suddenly, a sinking feeling in my stomach.  
“Oh, yes,” continued Gubbins, cheerfully oblivious to the tension in the air. 

Walking past the group (Eliza), I noticed that Grantchester was also listening to the conversation from where he sipped at a cocktail by the window. His eyes met mine and he gave an imperceptible nod.

Please not now, I thought.

“Something about a house full of people generating a fungus, wasn’t it? I like to listen in on the transmissions whenever the Barghests go out.” 

Then, I knew why Myfanwy was eyeing me coldly. She thought I was the traitor. The one in league with the Grafters. The one working against the Checquy... and by default I guess I was. I slowly slid one of my hands into my coat letting my fingers grasp my gun in its holster (Robert). Myfanwy looked across at me and her eyes narrowed. She hesitated for only a moment before declaring in a loud voice. “Rook Gestalt, I accuse you of treason against the Checquy and the United Kingdom of the British Isles!” 

The entire place fell silent, the conversations dying away as heads whipped around. I knew what I had to do, I drew my gun and pointed across the small circle of people, at her beautiful face. 

Of course I could never have pulled the trigger. I was expecting Petoskey to tackle me, but she didn't need to. Without touching me, Myfanwy had taken control of my body. I tried to resist, but her grip was strong. She raised her eyebrows at me and I found my arm moving of its own accord, throwing my gun away, into a distant corner of the room. Then, as an afterthought, like some kind of ridiculous puppet, I involuntarily threw myself in the opposite direction, straight into one of the large floral displays. 

For a moment, everyone in the ballroom was frozen—across the room Grantchester again gave me the nod—for fuck's sake, there was nothing left but do his bidding. "The time has come for an uprising," I barked out (Eliza), as I backhanded Lady Farrier, shrieking, into a waiter. Then place seemed to explode into action. 

A tray of hors d’oeuvres went flying. Farrier’s bodyguard turned and kicked her in the ribs and then pulled out a knife.

A gun in one hand and a combat knife in the other (Alex), I joined several of the Retainers who were scattered about the room producing weapons and moving menacingly toward the members of the Court. 

Three of them darted at Conrad Grantchester.

Clever. 

He had planned this well. That corner of the room was abruptly engulfed in darkness as the Bishop poured a torrent of inky smoke out of his pores. Myfanwy's EA and bodyguard were swallowed up in the fog.

There was coughing, people crashing into one another, and the unmistakable swearing of Joshua Eckhart. There was the wild slamming sound of gunfire, and everyone ducked. 

Bishop Morales took the hands of her two Retainers and disappeared abruptly. What I wouldn't give for the power of teleportation!

I was getting to my knees (Robert), dripping water and decorative ferns. Myfanwy turned and slammed her thoughts down on me again. She sent me sprawling and pinned my body with her mind, freezing every joint. The force of her power was terrifying. No-one had ever subdued one of my bodies so easily.

I stalked forward (Teddy), and slammed my gun into the head of one of Petoskey's Retainers. They went down cold. The second one was also fell to the floor in quick succession. One of Gubbins’s secretaries dragged a wire garrote over his master’s head and set about throttling him. The room was filled with people trying to kill one another. 

I shot down a waiter; the non fatal wound was painful enough to take send them quickly into unconsciousness. I was probably going to have to kill some people. I wasn't squeamish about that, but I preferred to know who the enemy was. I toyed with the thought of attacking Grantchester myself - then pleading innoncent if i didn't manage to kill him. Luckily, no one had made any moves toward Myfanwy yet, because I could not have stood by to see her harmed. 

With Eliza's body I advanced on Wattleman, raising my pistol (though I was quite sure he was impervious to bullets). Myfanwy immediately released her hold on Robert, and cerebrally seized Eliza. I was frozen in the middle of taking aim, my arm outstretched.

Behind Myfanwy, I got up and started fighting with one of Wattleman’s bodyguards (Robert). I tried mentally to wriggle out of Myfanwy's grasp but she clenched her thoughts around me (Eliza). Then she seemed to seize full control of my consciousness as it was represented in Eliza's body. I could feel her presence in my physical framework, exploring and following every fissure. She felt along the remnants of the injuries my body had picked up over the years: white lines on the knuckles and the backs of the hands, one along my stomach, and the slight ache of scars that had come from claws raked across my back. 

It was strangely intimate, this form of mental combat. Myfanwy held tight until one of Grantchester’s Retainers kicked her behind her knees, knocking her to the floor and shaking her mental grip. As she grappled with the Retainer, I blinked my eyes a few times and then turned to the gaping Wattleman and shot him in the head. The old man crumpled, falling into Petoskey's arms.

A few meters away, Gubbins was still struggling against the garrote clutched in the hands of his Retainer. The Retainer who was attacking Myf and drawn a long knife from inside his coat... and proceeded to stab himself in the thigh and then turn the blade. Behind her, Alrich was in the process of tearing the limbs off one of his secretaries. 

It was anarchy, with Court members and Retainers attacking one another left and right. Gubbins dislocated his neck backward, simultaneously slipping out of the garrote and smashing his attacker in the nose. Petoskey had grown a skin of glittering armor and was curled over Wattleman, shielding him from my bullets. Bullets were ricocheting off her in a flurry of sparks. 

I turned Eliza's body away and went after a loyal Retainer who was defending Lady Farrier. Gubbins dived at a me (Teddy) and began to engage in horrendously contorted combat. Alex joined in, and I coordinated the two bodies in flawless martial arts. With Robert's hands I sent Wattleman's final bodyguard crumpling to the floor. I turned to add a third body to the fight with Gubbins who was bending his body into impossible positions. 

He backhanded Alex and received a fist to the stomach for his trouble. Flexing, now standing on one foot, now on two hands, Gubbins was a blur, striking out desperately at both bodies. As I moved Robert into the melee, from the corner of my eye I saw Myfanwy standing there watching my bodies deliver lightning-fast blows, all of them timed to strike simultaneously. 

She looked like a goddess in the midst of all that carnage. The phosphorescence of her eyes dazzling. There was awe in her face, admiration, even, for the skills I was demonstrating. 

Gubbins was hard-pressed, I darted forward (Teddy) and grabbed the Chev by the lapels of his tuxedo. Gubbins locked his hands around my wrist and elbow and twisted himself backward violently, rolling over his own spine and flinging me into the air. I reached out without looking (Alex). Clasping hands, like a trapeze artist, I snatched Teddy's body out of the air. I spun and brought him smoothly to the ground, then whipped him around and launched his body back at Gubbins. 

The Chevalier lashed out low with a foot, and I somersaulted over him, distracting Gubbins long enough for me to grab him (Robert and Alex) and plant two fists in his stomach. The Chev crumpled, and I reared back to incapacitate him. Three fists struck simultaneously, like hammers pounding into flesh, hitting him in three spots guaranteed to result in unconsciousness - if not death. 

Behind me there was a roar as Alrich burst out of a crowd of attackers, shaking off a mist of blood. He snarled and moved toward me, his long, tapering fingers hooking themselves into claws. 

The vampire had hundreds of years of fighting experience and venom I couldn't combat. I turned to run. In four separate directions. 

“They’re bolting!” shouted Petoskey.

“Like hell,” croaked Myfanwy. Throwing off a Retainer intent on strangulation she turned the full force of her power on me. All four of my bodies stumbled. It didn't matter that I had reached the furthest edges of the ballroom. Distance didn't seem to effect her ability to take hold of me. She tightened the web and she had me. 

There was no way I could escape—no body to slide into, no extra sibling to mobilize. But then, suddenly, I woke up from a light sleep.

I threw all of my mind into the small body lying in a cot. I couldn't stay long, my infant brain was nearly convulsing with the pressure of strange and violent adult thoughts. It was long enough though. When I returned to my four adult bodies, Myfanwy had lost her grip on me. The knees that were buckling, straightened. With Alex and Eliza I made it out the doorway and began running flat out for separate exits.

Myfanwy meanwhile had snared one of my bodies. She was wrenching at my senses, warping my perception so that I ran straight into a wall, knocking myself out (Teddy). The Retainers were also running, and I nearly managed to lose myself in the crowd flooding through the exit. That is, until Alrich launched himself impossibly across the room, scattering people like skittles. The Bishop snagged me by the shoulder (Robert). He swung me up, around, and then down, crashing me onto the floor with tremendous force. I let Robert's body join Teddy's in sinking into welcome unconsciousness.


	19. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These events come from Chapter 26 in "The Rook" by Daniel O'Malley...
> 
> \---

When I knocked on the door of the small apartment, Bronwyn answered the door. 

“Ah,” I said, feeling extremely self-conscious. After all, I was going out on a limb, and I felt a like a trespasser. “Hi Bronwyn... I'm in a bit of trouble... and I'm wondering if you can help.” 

“Eliza?” Bronwyn said. She smelled like red wine and freshly baked bread. “What has happened to you? Is my sister okay?" 

“Yeah. She's alright. But she doesn't know I'm here. Should I go —”

“No, come —” There was a bit of a fumble and then I was inside and the door was shut behind me. Bronwyn's face was pale as she looked me over carefully. I gazed around the lounge room. It looked like the home of a mad inventor or a whimsical seamstress or a very messy artist. She said, “Sorry it's a bit of a mess... I spread out when Jonathan's not here...”

“All good,” I replied. 

She scooped up a stack of fabric scraps from one surface and layered it on top of another precarious pile. “I'm really sorry. Here. Have a seat.”

“Thanks,” I said, moving toward the spot on the couch that she'd cleared for me, “I guess you want to know what the fuck is going on.” 

For a few seconds, Bronwyn just looked carefully at me; in that moment she looked so much like Myfanwy. The same perceptive gaze. The small room, painted red with afternoon sun through the smudged windowpanes, was warm and home-like. Nothing like the spaces I lived in. 

Then she shook her head. "No. First, I'm going to get us both a glass of red. Then you can tell me just as much as I need to know to be helpful."

I had underestimated the maturity of this young person. I watched as she scurried in and out of the kitchen bringing back two glasses, a half empty bottle of wine, and some thick slices of home made bread liberally spread with butter. Instead of clearing a space on the couch for herself, she pulled up a well-used cushion and plopped down on the floor.

She looked up at me expectantly.

Now that I was here I was questioning every decision that had led to this moment. I took a sip of wine to fortify me. "So... you know that Myf and I work in a government agency but... my part of the job is mostly uh.. fieldwork. Undercover jobs that I can't talk about. It takes me away a lot."

Bronwyn took a bite of bread and the very normal action helped calm me. 

"I have kept a lot of secrets from Myf. But the biggest one came out yesterday, and I don't know what to do..." To my complete disbelief, my voice cracked. Suddenly I was crying. 

I hadn't cried like this since the trip to the Estate with Myfanwy. It was humiliating. 

Bronwyn came to her knees and hugged me, completely trusting. The action made me sob harder. People often made the mistake of thinking that because my body was made up of four 'siblings' I wouldn't need human contact. Afterall, couldn't I give myself a hug? 

But the truth was that I was an only child. Hugging myself was not the hug of a sibling. I was not a family. I was just me. 

Bronwyn's arms were strong, caring and sisterly. In them my shuddering breathing evened out. Eventually I pulled back and accepted some tissues.

"God, I never do this. Bronwyn I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." She looked shyly at me. "I'm actually really glad you came to me. I could see how much you mean to Muhvanwee." 

"Mmm, I think that is over..."

She sat up very straight, "hey! Don't say that. You can't see how she looks at you. Nothing can be so bad that it's _over_!"

I raised my eyebrows at her. A torrent of words escaped. "So, you think she'll cope with the fact that I didn't tell her I was away for a year because I was pregnant and that the father of my child has taken the custody of my baby so that he can keep me compliant with his secret projects that betray everything our agency stands for?"

She was open-mouthed. "Uh, yeah, that's bad. I can't see her forgiving _that_ very easily!"

I burst out into surprised laughter. "You can say that again."

"Which part of that secret is the big one she knows about, now?"

"The betrayal of the agency. She doesn't know about why." I said, absently.

"Oh dear," said Bronwyn. "How can I help?"

\---

The past thirty-six hours had been very bad ones for the bodies the Checquy had managed to hold on to. I was pinioned in stocks, my hands and head poking out through the holes (Teddy). The stocks themselves were affixed to the wall with thick iron bars. A sphere of chicken wire encircled my head, looking like an attempt to keep out extremely fat bees. 

Myfanwy had come to the barren wastes of southwestern Scotland to the Gallows Keep Prison to see me. Now she stood over me, wearing one of those official blazers that was corsetted so she was standing very straight. Her expressive face was unusually closed off to me, but I could see that she was aiming to look intimidating.

It made me smile.

This irritated her instantly. “Gestalt, you’re looking well,” Myfanwy said. “I mean, as well as anyone could look in that delightful apparatus. Which is to say, you look like utter shit. They’re certainly not taking any chances with you, are they? All you need to complete this picture is a big iron ball shackled to your ankle and a hockey mask.”

“Frankly,” I replied, “I don’t know why they bother.”  
“You mean since you have so many other bodies running about?” Myfanwy asked.  
“Exactly” I said, flatly. "What are you here to ask me, Rook Thomas? I'll answer what I can. It might not be much." I glanced up at the security cameras, knowing that Grantchester would have every part of this conversation monitored.

Myfanwy looked a little non-plussed by my subdued directness. 

“Ah, I have many questions - but I'd want to be sure you were giving truthful answers." She pursed her lips together. "Dr. Crisp wanted to be flown in immediately to interrogate you. He’s never quite forgiven you for attempting to strangle him. And he feels that your unique physiology would offer a marvelous challenge. But we still need him in America.”

“Well then,” I said. “I'm thankful for the reprieve.”

“The main thing I want to know is how many people are involved in this little mutiny of yours. I know it wasn’t just the Retainers at the reception the other night. After all, I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Goblet the other day. So why don’t you tell me a little more about your operation in Bath?” 

There was nothing I could say about that without betraying Grantchester on camera. I shook my head.

“Okaaay. Then there’s the alarming evidence that you’ve been fraternizing with the Grafters. Given the punishments for Checquy officers committing treason, do you want to talk about that? ” 

"I thought the Broederschap had disbanded. I didn't know Peter Van Syoc or any of the reasons he came to our country.

“Perhaps,” she mused, “there is the possibility of leniency. If you talk, that is. The Court does not want to see one of its own tortured, let alone undergo the agonies for consorting with the Broederschap. But there cannot be any secrets held back, Gestalt. For instance, where did you go for that moment at the reception?” she wondered. “Some little spiritual bolt-hole? A psychic holiday home? It was foolish of you to do it, because now we know that there’s more to you than meets the eye.” 

“I’m not the only one with a secret,” I said in response. “Do you think no one noticed that you were affecting people all the way across the room? As I recall, we all thought you had to be touching someone to make them do what you wanted!” 

“We're not here to talk about me though."

“Why _ are _you here, Myfanwy?” I asked, softly 

“I wanted to see you..." she replied with the same softness, "to see if there was anything you wanted to tell me of your own free will." Her voice was pleading. “Now I’m here, and you’re… Well, you’re wearing something that looks like a guinea pig hutch mated with a bear trap. Maybe you harbor some dream about overthrowing the Checquy, but I don't understand why you pretended to be in love with me,” said Myfanwy her voice turning cold.

I swallowed. "The only way you could know the truth is if you could see through my eyes."

Her eyes locked onto mine. I felt the moment she seized control. Through the first set of eyes, she stared at herself, and felt cold iron around her neck and wrists. Through another set of eyes, she slept. An electric blanket soothed her muscles, and soft sheets caressed her skin.

Through the third she saw a door. She sat on a hard bed, with her knees pulled up to her chest. The lights overhead were dim, and the strip of light under the door burned the eyes.

Through the fourth set of eyes, she looked intently at a computer in a darkened room. Her cheek ached dully, and her knuckle smarted. There was a glass of gin in her hand, and a plate of cheese lay on the desk. She paused in this body because the hands were typing rapidly and a new word document appearing on the screen. 

** I want to tell you the truth. I just haven't known how. I'm in the only place I could think of that Granchester doesn't have surveillence or awareness of. Don't say anything in your office. Or on the phone. Or via your email. He has it all monitored. I do love you... but I'm trapped by another kind of love... look through my fifth set of eyes. Quickly. Before I lose access to them. **

Through the last set of eyes, she sat on the floor and watched television. The room was bright and comfortable, with windows looking out over a river.There was a handsome man seated on the couch staring contemplatively at her. She ate a carrot and glanced up when a tall woman with piercing blue eyes walked into the room. 

Contact was broken, and Myfanwy took a faltering step backward. She looked like she’d run several miles. She was sweating profusely, she bent over, and the prongs of her corseted blazer dug into her ribs. She drew in a gasping breath and stood up straight. 

She and I stared at each other, both panting slightly. 

Neither of us said anything, the words hung unspoken in the room, then, Myfanwy backed away and was gone.


	20. Ernst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These events come from Chapter 27, 28, 30, 33, 40 and 41 of "The Rook" by Daniel O'Malley.
> 
> \---

"Hey, babe!” Bronwyn said enthusiastically when she opened her apartment door to find Myfanwy. “You look great! Except for what you’re wearing.” 

The sisters hugged, a little awkwardly. “What can I say? I came straight from the office, and this outfit is only this good because it was a casual Friday.” Myfanwy's voice made a shiver of tension run through my already strained body.

“Your office must be really dusty. I suppose the jeans will cut it, but we’re going to have to find you a better top. Come in.” Bronwyn ushered Myfanwy into the flat, then looked seriously at her. “I’m going to finish getting changed, and I’ll find something for you to wear. But there's another reason I've asked you to come here tonight.” Without explaining, she retreated to her bedroom.

Myfanwy looked around curiously. The flat was still a mess, but that wasn't what she noticed. She saw me; sitting, uneasy and apprehensive, on the couch behind her.

She froze. 

Recovering, she cocked an eyebrow. "_This _ is the only place you could think of that Grantchester doesn't know about?"

"I've been staying in Jonathan's bedroom. He's away." I said, needlessly. "I'm sorry if I've made any trouble for your family."

Myfanwy opened her mouth, various instinctive responses arising. But, she seemed to think the better of them. I waited on tenterhooks while she deliberated. Eventually, with a glance to check if Bronwyn was in ear shot, she said quietly. "After I came to see you in Scotland, I've been working on following the money trail to Grantchester. But it's slow going. Without a statement from you, I don't have enough evidence yet to have a charge of treason stick."

"Would a statement from me actually be worth much?"

“I think so,” Myfanwy said, “despite the fact that eighteen people were killed during the uprising event, none of the people you attacked had fatal wounds. Even Gubbins is recovering, and he was in the most critical condition."

"Are you suggesting, I'll be believed because I didn't kill people?" I asked. 

“We all know that if you wanted to, you could have killed every one of those people... and more. It does appear to the Court that you weren't as committed to the Grafter uprising as many of the retainers who fought to the death.” 

I looked up at her and asked the question I was really thinking. "Do you believe me?"

Before she could respond Bronwyn appeared wearing something as risque as the crimson dress Myfanwy had worn just a few nights ago. 

“I know that you two aren't going to be able to sort out all your stuff in one night. But, may I suggest,” said Bronwyn, “that dancing and getting drunk together is a good step forward.” 

In the conversation that followed Myfanwy rejected several clothing options before Bronwyn declared that she was the one studying fashion, the one who knew where they were going, and the one who would decide what Myfanwy would wear. I meekly accepted an outfit she had chosen for me and several minutes later we were headed for the most dubious and trendy of nightclubs in the city. It was absolutely crazy.

Myfanwy had eluded her bodyguards and ignored the Checquy lockdown in order to go dancing with her sister... 

I was a wanted criminal who should _not_ be casually taking a night out. I was probably going to end up with three bodies in Gallows Keep. 

Yet, despite having no supernatural coercive powers Bronwyn soon had us seated in a club making polite conversation with a group of her friends. 

“I’m going to get some water,” Myfanwy told us. I watched as she walked across the club, subtly directing the movement of the dancers so that the crowd opened up in front of her and closed behind her. She walked up to the bar and people moved aside, not even realizing they were doing it. 

I hid a smile. Drawn into a discussion about the outfit that Bronwyn had dressed me in, I didn't notice at first that Myfanwy was talking to someone at the bar. Someone tall and powerful, dressed in leather pants and a mesh top, with long straight hair hanging to his waist. Bishop Alrich.

The hair was blonde. Alrich was thirsty. 

I didn't stop to think. I was across the room in seconds, though no crowds parted for me. I had killed a vampire before but needed all my bodies to do it. The thought of Myfanwy facing an attacker like Alrich, without the advantage of her powers to protect her, made me feel nauseous. 

But when I arrived next to them, it became clear that the atmosphere between them was not murderous after all. Myfanwy was sipping delicately from an apple martini and Alrich was observing the crowd with the hungry look of a predator choosing his prey. 

“So, how about him? ” Myfanwy was saying, gesturing discreetly with her chin toward a handsome young man who actually looked very much like Alrich, dancing nearby. 

“Oh, yes, he looks suitable,” said Alrich softly. Then looked straight at me. “Gestalt,” he said. “Myfanwy had explained the situation to me, and I will work with the two of you to expose Grantchester. But for now, we are all having a night off. He passed me his untouched beverage, turned to Myfanwy, and bowed elaborately.

“Very nice, but I’d be more touched if that move wasn’t subtly calculated to show your arse off to the entire club.”

Alrich winked and moved smoothly over to the dancing blond. He whispered into the boy’s ear, and a broad grin spread across the young man’s face. He took Alrich’s hand and led him off the dance floor toward the exit. 

I took a sip of Alrich's abandoned drink. Myfanwy let out a breath that I hadn't realised she'd been holding. "Well, that was unexpected. He stalked us here, relying on our scent apparently."

"Mmmm..."

Her blue eyes met mine in the semi darkness. "Did you know my powers wouldn't work on Alrich?"

I shrugged. "Not for sure. But vampires have no human elements, despite their appearance, so I didn't want you facing him without having a way of controlling him."  
  
Her lips curved softly upwards. "So you dashed across the dance floor to give me back up? Despite the fact that - if he didn't believe me - he would be taking you into custody?"  
  
I was thankful to be interrupted by Bronwyn and her friends arriving to drag us on to the dance floor. Perhaps I had over reacted to the threat that Bishop Alrich posed. The music was throbbing and the other young women were swaying and bobbing. I had spent enough time in clubs over the years to be a fairly competent dancer, but as it turned out, Myfanwy was not a natural dancer at all. 

For someone so elegant and graceful it made me smile to see her flailing attempts to imitate the movements of the others. She punched me lightly in the shoulder and shouted in my ear over the music. "Stop laughing at me! Just because you somehow now how to do this!"

To my surprise, Myfanwy was smiling up at me, enjoying herself. She was as relaxed as I had ever seen her. We had a few cocktails floating around inside us, and we were dancing together, her body beginning to tune in with mine. The music was throbbing, and she closed her eyes and let her body collide with mine in suggestive ways. 

Despite everything that was happening, I could feel that she wanted me. I was able to put aside all of my fear, worry and heartache... for just a moment. Then a hand tapped Myfanwy's shoulder, a man stood there swaying slightly. Myfanwy raised her eyebrows in a question, braced for anything. He didn't look too unusal. Shaved head, pointed nose, pale lips drawn back in a tight smile. Then he peeled back his lips, and revealed a smile full of razors. 

He gestured toward a table that was a little away from the speakers and miraculously free of people. Myf hesitated, and he slowly lifted up one hand, holding a mobile phone. He discreetly offered it to her.

Five minutes later, we left the club. 

Bronwyn was disappointed but unsurprised to have her sister urgently called away to deal with a work matter. Now outside, we looked around and saw neon light glinting off a shaved head. 

“Rook Thomas,” he said, smiling his smile.

“Nameless Irritating Man with Aggressive Teeth,” she said, smiling hers. “So, where’s your friend?”

“Just across the street, if you’ll follow me.” 

We walked hurriedly across the street, and he opened the door of his car for us. “You’ve got a pretty shit job with this, you know,” she pointed out to him. He flushed uncomfortably, and nodded. “Still, you were very polite. Are you Belgian, by any chance?” He nodded awkwardly. “Thought so.”

She got into the car first and I followed closely after. Myfanwy settled back into her seat and took great care to compose herself before she raised her eyes to look at her host.  
I was less wise, but managed not to throw up at the sight of the creature that reclined, partially submerged, in a waist-high tank that had replaced a row of seats in the limo. The tank was filled with a viscous fluid that shimmered with oily rainbows.. 

It looked as if it had been flayed right before we got in the car. It was shiny with fluids that usually flowed exclusively beneath several layers of skin. The eyes were mismatched, one of them glinting a bright Teutonic blue that would have done Hitler proud, and the other so bloodshot that it was orange. Chitin plates trailed delicately through the angry flesh, seemingly placed with calligraphic care. Rangy cords of muscles wrapped around limbs with alarmingly irregular ridges and spurs. 

The skinned thing rested its arms on the rim of the tank and laid its chin on the back of its hand. “Good evening, Rook Thomas,” it said, "Rook Gestalt." Myfanwy nodded and smiled politely, pressing her lips together so hard that the blood rushed away. 

“I am Graaf Gerd de Leeuwen of the Wetenschappelijk Broederschap van Natuurkundigen,” it said to us. “I apologize for my current appearance. A new skin is being grown for me, but I did not want to wait. Once we heard that you were unattended, I knew this would be the perfect opportunity to meet with you both.” 

Myfanwy nodded sharply, glancing at me. 

"Why did you want to meet us? Er, Graaf Gerd de Loon?" I managed to ask.  
  
“I gather that we have something you want.” Myfanwy said tightly. 

The thing’s muscles jerked in vexation along its neck, and tendons tightened in its fingers. “I do not like being in this country,” it said peevishly. "I would still be in België, but unfortunately circumstances have dragged me here.” 

“That must be trying,” said Myfanwy with as much false sympathy as she could muster. 

The skinned man in the tank looked at us with his head cocked to one side. “Yes,” he said dubiously. “It displeases me that I am obliged to speak with members of the Checquy. I have not forgotten the Isle of Wight.” 

We gaped at him, realizing what this man was saying. He had been there when the Grafters invaded. The thing in front of us was over three hundred years old. 

“I can understand how vexing it must be for you, but if you are the leader of the Broederschap, we can't be the first members of the Court you've spoken to. What about Grantchester?” Myfanwy said brusquely.

“Pah!” he said. “That man has a handler. The scion of a notable family, but no one truly important! He is nothing to the leaders of the Wetenschappelijk Broederschap van Natuurkundigen. Bishop Grantchester is interested in nothing but profit, he does not truly respect the deep knowledge of the ages.” His eyes were burning with rage as he leaned forward out of the tank toward us. "Stop playing games with me. You Rook Thomas are the one who has what I want!"

“I am not playing games!” she shouted back at him. He jerked in surprise, but did not move. “What do you want?” 

“You know what I want!” he screamed. Yellowy foam sprayed from his lips onto us, and we both flinched. 

“What the hell—look, I have no idea what the fuck you want, but you better talk now or we are getting out of this car.” 

“I want my deelhebber! I want Ernst von Suchtlen!” he snarled. 

Genuinely bewildered, Myfanwy blinked. “What?” she asked.  
"What?" I asked.  
“What what?” he spat.  
“What are you talking about?” she asked.  
“What?” he yelled.  
“We don’t understand,” I said, trying to calm him down. “What is it that you want?” 

“I want you to produce Graaf Ernst von Suchtlen!”  
“Who?”  
“The other leader of the Wetenschappelijk Broederschap van Natuurkundigen,” he said through teeth that would have been clenched if they’d lined up.  
“I’m sorry,” Myfanwy said carefully. “But we don’t have this person.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he said, sneering. “He vanished from our fabriek months ago, leaving instructions for the continuance of our strategy here and for the concealment of his absence. From me.” He clenched his fingers on the rim of the tank. 

As the conversation between them continued, my mind raced. This person was the key to the evidence that we needed, but how could we get anything useful out of him? He also seemed to be a raving lunatic.

He gnashed his weirdly rotating teeth together as he spoke. “Once I discovered he was missing, I tracked him. We found a record of a piece of mail sent to Myfanwy Thomas, who is a Rook of the Checquy. Our mortal enemies. It is the only thing that indicates where he has gone. I sent my personal agent to find him, and you promptly took him and tortured him!”—ah Von Syoc—“Now, where is Ernst?” 

“I’m sorry, but I have no idea,” said Myfanwy.  
“If you fuck with me, I will start killing right now!” he yelled. “Do you want murder in your streets?” He was thrashing in his tank, sending waves of the goop sloshing everywhere.   
“Listen to me, you flayed fuck,” Myfanwy shouted in his face. “I have no idea what you are talking about, but you need to calm down.”  
“Do not speak like that to me! I possess the knowledge of the ages!” he gargled.  
“Big deal,” said Myfanwy with a snort. “You know, fifteen minutes ago I had drinks with a vampire. The man has been dead since the eighteenth century, and he still manages to be quite well mannered.” 

Alrich. Yes. That was clever. I fished out my phone and unobtrusively dialled the Bishop while Myfanwy held our host's attention. As if on cue, as soon as Alrich answered his phone, the Belgian began shouting his demand again.

“Where is Ernst von Suchtlen?”

“Are you on crack?” asked Myfanwy. “Think back to what I just said. I know it may be lost somewhere in the centuries of accumulated material in the filing cabinet of your brain, but I just said that we… Do. Not. Have. Him. Now, we will do our best to help you, but if you’ve misplaced one of your men, then you have only one person to blame, and it’s not me.”

“If you do not produce him, I will release a wave of horror upon your people that will blight your country!” shrieked the skinless Belgian. “I will drown this city in bile and blood!” 

I raised both hands placatingly, my phone tucked into my lap. "Stop and listen, Sir. Neither Rook Thomas or I know anything of this person."

“You do! Rook Thomas at least does! Ernst sent something to _her_, the general of our greatest enemy." He turned his disturbing eyes back on Myfanwy. "If I did not think you knew where he was, you would be flayed, your sister would be dead, and I would be watching troops vat-grown in Mechelen rape your Prime Minister in Trafalgar Square on a pyramid of Cockney skulls.” 

It was definitely the wrong tack to take with this new Myf. “What?” she whispered. He seemed to think he had cowed her, but I expected that a storm was building up behind her sheet-white face and horrified eyes.

“That is right,” the Belgian confirmed in a tone of deep satisfaction. “So, I suggest you drop this little pretense that you do not have him because now you understand exactly how serious this is."

“You motherfucker. Where do you get off threatening my family?” Myfanwy shouted suddenly. “You make one single move toward Bronwyn and I will have your country carpet bombed. I will seize control of your body, and you will tear your own guts out of your arse. You fucking corpse!” 

“You do not talk to me like that!” the Belgian shrieked. He began a long-winded diatribe of seventeenth-century Belgian abuse that only made Myfanwy more furious.

We were getting no where. 

"Give us three days!" I interrupted. Both verbal combatants stared at me, silenced.

“If this 'Ernst' sent Rook Thomas something in the past few months, she will still have it. She doesn't ever throw out correspondence. We just might not have realised the significance of it yet. Give us three days to figure out what it was, then we can have a more informed conversation."

“Where is he, that you need three days to produce him?” the skinless Belgian asked suspiciously. 

“Oh God.” Myfanwy sighed. "We don't have him! But... we can try to find him for you." 

"I will allow this, Rook! Three days to produce him! You have only the time I give you!” 

We climbed out of the car to the sound of incomprehensible ravings. The bald man was standing by the door, looking anxious. When he heard the shouting from within the car, he paled. 

“Get him out of here,” said Myfanwy shortly.  
“Did you do what he wanted?” said the man frantically, as he got into the front seat.  
“Does it sound like it?” she asked, already stalking back towards the club. I grabbed her arm as she joined the que to re-enter, flagging down a passing cab with my other hand. 

I spoke quickly. "Myfanwy, I'm going to follow them. You need to trace the licence plate. Also find Alrich -" I saw the Bishop striding towards us, his hair no longer blonde but a bright crimson. "Strike that, I'll take Alrich with me. Get Chevalier Eckhart and stand by with the Barghests in case we find the rest of the Grafters."

Myf stared at me. "Oh my god. You're right." Her head snapped around to look at the departing limousine, which was thankfully heading down the street at a snails pace due to unruly traffic and drunken pedestrians. She pulled out her phone and started typing in the letters of the limousine's registration number. 

"Is that the car?" Alrich was on us as I climbed into the cab.  
"Yes. The black limo." I answered.  
He nodded, "I have my own transport. Stay in touch on this number."

He disappeared faster than humanly possible as Myfanwy wailed, "fucking hell, Gestalt, this was supposed to be my night _off_!"

As it turned out, the bureaucratic rehashing of the events that followed took almost as long as the events themselves. Eckhart’s account of our assault on the Grafter home base had included a clinical description of they way that he and I had killed the skinless Belgian. 

Myfanwy had listened, openmouthed, as Eckhart explained that the Grafter leader had grown blades of bone from his arms and that we had fought in a chamber in which giant sacs and cocoons hung from the ceiling. Pods had burst open, warriors had sprung forth, and Alrich and the Barghests had fought them off while we dueled with Graaf Gerd de Leeuwen, metal scraping against bone. Two members of the Barghests had been traitors, and they turned on their comrades. Their Grafter enhancements had not saved them. 

Finally, without any emotion, Joshua told everyone how he had torn down a chain from the ceiling and shaped it into a javelin. He had passed the weapon to me and watched as I placed it with great precision through the skinless Belgian’s head. After Eckhart’s description, the conversation had turned to Myfanwy’s adventures in confronting Grantchester. I found myself gritting my teeth in further anger at Grantchester during this retelling.

Security Chief Clovis was still providing the Court with intensive protection. I may have killed our skinless friend with a steel javelin to the face, but there could still be Grafters in the city—to say nothing of their endeavors throughout the country. Grantchester had evaded capture, and no one knew what lengths he might take to exact revenge.

The Barghests were planning an assault on Camp Caius; they had orders to take as few lives as possible. Myfanwy had already begun making plans of how to rehabilitate the children there.

Due to the latest revelations about Grantchester, I had been released from Gallows Keep. I had agreed to willingly remain under 'house arrest' in my residence at the Rookery, awaiting a trial regarding my actions during the night of the uprising. In return, the Court had agreed that my child should be returned into my custody.

This was done without fanfare. A retainer knocked on the door of my residence, and there I was. A tiny child, securely strapped into a stroller, looking up at myself. The two escorts began bringing all sorts of child related paraphanelia inside, half of which I wouldn't instinctively know the use of. But I had eyes only for my baby.

Reaching down and unstrapping the seatbelt I scooped him up into my arms (Teddy). Junior wrapped his pudgy hands around the back of my neck and looked into my eyes with a direct gaze. And even though it wasn't exactly a hug, and we weren't exactly a family. There was something warm and special about holding this younger part of myself. The chance to nurture myself. To celebrate childhood. A childhood that the rest of me had not had the opportunity to experience...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who has followed along this story with me - thank-you! I apologise for leaving the Mystalt aspect unresolved, but there is so much more that needs to happen before BookMyfanwy and BookGestalt can truly get together. If I don't do a rewrite of O'Malley's sequel (Stiletto), then I will write an epilogue for this fic.
> 
> But for now the fic is finished, as is. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I had fun putting it together x


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